Nothing good ever happens in alleyways
by Lillubibi
Summary: A/U - Nothing good ever happens in alleyways. At least that's been your experience so far. A lot of people walk in and out of alleyways in New York City; but nobody ever does so without a reason - An investigation into Organised Crime, cop!Brittany.
1. Prologue

I own nothing. Just having fun.

A/N: I tried to be accurate, but I am taking some artistic liberties and I'll readily admit that I'm far more knowledgeable of European Organised Crime than South American Cartels. I do know more though about the Cartels than police work so forgive or point out any inaccuracies if you need.

This is my first story, I'd love some feedback.

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Almost 80% of the drugs consumed in the United States transits through Mexico.

* * *

Nothing good ever happens in alleyways. At least that has been your experience so far. You have only lived and worked in the city for a year but as of right now, you have never seen anyone come out of an alleyway with a smile on their face. Prostitutes readjusting their skirts; men hiding from the rain, tucked between two bins and with a cardboard box on their heads; junkies and dealers buying and selling… A lot of people walk in and out of alleyways in New York City; but nobody ever does so without a reason.

Yours is work; and you are staring right at it. You are meant to be interviewing the trash collector in front of you but the poor guy was simply doing his job when he found the dead body. Not much to learn from a guy who starts everyday at four am and spends his life emptying trash cans. "I didn't see nothing, or hear nothing. I just moved the bin and there he was." So you just thank him and let him go back to his route while you are left waiting for the primary detective on the case. He is late, as always but you are still on probation so you cannot say or do anything about it.

Just as you start to think about calling someone else, you see his car pull up to the alley. When he comes out, he has a coffee in his hand and you know why he is late: he waited until the coffee shop near his place opened to get a cup to go before coming here. While it is true that the dead guy is not going to get anymore dead than a bullet to the head and guts spilling out, you have spent the past hour in this grimy, smelly alley waiting for him so you cannot help but give him the stink eye. He does not notice it. Then again, Detective Hudson is not necessarily the most observant of people, unless its boobs then he will notice but other than that, the guy is pretty useless.

"What have we got?!" He asks while shifting from leg to leg, trying to keep warm in the bitter wind of early autumn mornings.

You are about to answer when the medical examiner's assistant beats you to it, not looking up from his task. "Dead guy; he's been that way since last night. He's been shot and disembowelled not necessarily in that order. That all I have for now." Chang is now looking at your superior. "And all I'll have until you move your car and we get him back to the morgue."

You have to smile at him for that; he too has been waiting in the cold and even without the biting remark, you like the guy: he does not stare at your ass from his position crouched by the body, he lifts his eyes up to your face. It is nice to be seen as a human being from time to time.

After a couple more hours waiting around for everyone to do their job while you guard the yellow-lined perimeter, you finally make it back to the precinct. It is a crumbling old building which gets too warm in summer but never reaches a confortable temperature in winter but still there is no wind and you have a chair to sit on. You have identified your victim as Noah Puckerman, apparently a free-lance writer and journalist, though you have yet to find any articles published anywhere with his name at the top. So there you are, listening to detective Hudson trying to charm the pants off detective Fabray, while looking for your victim's real job. Until:

"Found him!" You do not realised how loud you said it until all the heads in the room turn to you.

"Found what Officer Pierce?" Fabray is looking at you rather grateful for the interruption; there only so much talk of Hawaiian pizza a woman can take.

"Noah Puckerman, known to most as Puck, dada dadi dida, is our copy editor." You read of the website. "He works for _The Muckraker_. It doesn't say though what he could have been doing in the alleyway."

You can hear the collective grunt from the colleagues gathered around you. _The Muckraker_ has been the bane of your existences for a while now. Anything that happens in New York City becomes a conspiracy in the hands of the writers of the thankfully not widely read website.

Hudson who had been rather quiet since you interrupted his musing on pineapples turns to you: "Get her in here. As soon as possible."

Rachel Berry, editor in Chief, main writer and one of only three paid staff of _The Muckraker_ has made her way down to the station. She has already been to the morgue to identify her co-worker and is now sitting in an interrogation room waiting for Hudson. From where you are you can see she is a little green but it is understandable, one of her friend has just been gutted and shot. Even in the NYPD it is not something you see everyday.

The door opens and Hudson walks through. "Sorry for keeping you waiting Miss Berry." Though he does not look very sorry at all. You wonder if its revenge because he blames her for his last chewing out by Sergeant Sylvester. "What can you tell me about Noah Puckerman?"

"He was kind of a friend. He could be a jerk sometimes but he was really funny and usually a good sport." She sniffles a bit before continuing. "He was only the copy editor but he wanted to write. Usually only me and Jacob write the articles. But he said he had a scoop."

"A scoop?" Hudson repeats, relieved to finally have a lead. Rachel nods, confirming. "About what Miss Berry?"

"He said he had something on a drug cartel opening a new pipeline into NY. I'm not entirely sure, he was being really secretive about it."

"So you believed him?"

"I wasn't sure but last week he mentioned Los Zetas and now he ends up disembowelled." She winces at this. "I don't think it's a coincidence."

Hudson looks confused and not for the first time you realised making detective in the NYPD does not require brains as much as dumb luck and some ass kissing. No way Hudson made it any other way. Berry notices his confusion.

"Two Mexican bloggers were disembowelled and hung up from a bridge in Nuevo Laredo last year as a warning for those 'posting stuff' on the Internet." She quotes the last few words with her fingers.

"Do you know anyone else he would have told?"

Rachel Berry seems to consider her answer carefully, whether it is because she is not sure or because she wants to protect her scoop, you do not know but she finally relents. "Santana Lopez, we all went to Junior College together she is working on a dissertation on the subject."

"What subject?" You feel like hitting your head on the glass. Rachel Berry also seems to realise her interlocutor is rather slow to the intake.

"The Cartels." A pause. "I'm not quite sure how much she would have known about Puck's discovery itself, but he would have needed some background information, at least for his article's write up. She would be a reliable source for that."

After a couple more routine questions, Hudson thanks her and leads her out. You come out of the box; already knowing is going to ask you for something.

"Find me this Lopez person. We need to see what she knows." You nod. "And ask Fabray to come and see me. If it is organised crime we'll need her." He adds with a hopeful smile as you nod again. "I'm off to visit his apartment."

Finding Santana Lopez proved harder than finding Rachel Berry and not just because unlike her, she does not own a website that lists about a dozen different ways to contact her; but also because she seems to be making a particular effort to keep her presence on databases to a minimum. But you manage to do it and after a fairly long phone conversation you also convince her to come down to the station and speak with you. Trusting she does not seem to be.

You only realise how deep her distrust runs when she shows up for her interview two days later, with a lawyer. Detective Fabray seems rather interested by that fact but not overly concerned or surprised. Hudson on the other hand sees it as an admission of guilt. You can see it in the triumphant smile he throws around the room as he leads her to a separate room.

* * *

English is not my first language so feel free to comment on any mistakes I might have made.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this anyway.


	2. Chapter 1

I don't own anything, quite literally.

* * *

Allegedly, "the U.S. government works with Mexican cartels to traffic drugs into the United States and has sided with the Sinaloa cartel in an attempt to limit the violence in Mexico."

* * *

She arrived to the precinct about five minutes early for her appointment with detective Hudson. Even before you know it is the Miss Lopez you have been waiting for for the past two days, you noticed her: she was confident, walking into the building without the fear or worry you see on most people arriving at a police station. She was not dressed in anything really special or particularly flashy; she looked like everyone else in the precinct front room, except way prettier and with a determined and stubborn look in her eyes.

She strode all the way to the reception desk where Kurt was manning the phone and trying to keep the chaos that is a police station front room to a minimum. She waited, impatiently taping her fingers on his desk, for him to finish a phone call before introducing herself. Recognition shone in Kurt's eyes, you had told him you were expecting her just a second ago; you were still hovering in the doorway.

He signalled you, waving you forward.

"Miss Lopez, this is Officer Pierce." She turns to you, extending her right hand.

"Yes, we spoke on the phone." No unnecessary politeness, no trying to disguise the fact that this visit is an inconvenience for her.

"Miss Lopez, thank you for coming." You gesture towards the main door. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to Detective Hudson, he is the lead on the case."

Again, she does not say anymore than she needs and simply nods.

"Detective Hudson." you are now standing near his desk. "This is Santana Lopez and…" You pause, neither of them ever introduced the second visitor. Thankfully, she takes over for you and Santana in the courtesy department and holds her hand out toward detective Hudson.

"I'm Tina Cohen-Chang, I'm a lawyer and Santana asked me to come with for this interview."

Hudson turned to his witness an odd look on his face. You also notice detective Fabray observing the new-comers with curious eyes.

"You brought your lawyer with you for a simple talk?!" Santana simply shrugs, not looking all that interested in detective Hudson or his opinion, she is looking around the station floor a bored look on her face but taking everything in. The lawyer lady interrupts everyone's musings by simply requesting detective Hudson start his interview.

As he leads Miss Lopez and her attorney to a room you and detective Fabray start following them. You hope to watch the interview because you are curious about the clearly guarded witness. You are not sure why detective Fabray wants to watch; she seemed quick to dismiss Hudson's cartel theory yesterday during the morning station briefing, but now she seems interested. It is not your place to ask anyway.

Just as the two of you reach the box overlooking the interrogation room, Hudson and the two women have walked in.

"Sit please Miss Lopez." He motions to one of the seats. "Thank you for coming." You know he is trying to initiate a discussion, get Santana to say something; she has so far not opened her mouth in front of him. It fails though, she is not looking at him and once she is seated, she does not move another muscle.

Hudson is left to try again, ill at ease, to initiate the conversation. "Do you know why you are here?"

Again he gets no reaction. She is however now looking at him, or rather staring him down. You find it rather funny, to watch detective Hudson squirm in his chair the same way suspects usually are. Detective Fabray also seems to see the irony in the situation; she has an odd smile playing on her lips. Hudson looses the staring game, coughs awkwardly and starts asking questions again.

"What can you tell me about Noah Puckerman?"

"I knew him. We slept together a couple of times. Way back when I didn't know any better. He has had that ridiculous Mohawk since middle school." Her answers make her lawyer snicker. You wonder how long they have known each other because it is not really professional. Hudson looks taken aback but not for the same reasons.

"You know he is dead?!"

"Yes, Berry's never been one to keep her mouth shut. Plus she warned me that she had mentioned me."

"Mentioned you?"

"I don't remember her exact words, she is too verbose and I usually just tune her out when she opens her trap. But yes she said she gave you my name."

"Did she say why she mentioned you?"

"Can't remember. Like I said, I don't listen to her, generally she talks in my direction, I just nod whenever she pauses to breathe." Santana and her lawyer are now openly laughing; Hudson has clearly lost control of the interview.

"She said he had found informations on a drug traffic and you were be someone he'd go to for help." Hudson looks at his witness and like before she stares back.

Again he is the first to relent. "Is it true?"

"What?"

"Did Mr Puckerman come to you about an article he was writing on drug trafficking?"

"No." Hudson looks shocked at this answer. You will admit that in the box, detective Fabray and you are a bit surprised to. The lawyer nudges her with her elbow, giving Santana an insisting look. For once, she yields. "He came to me asking questions about Los Zetas." Hudson looks like he does not know what she is talking about so she adds, "the Mexican drug cartel. He mentioned he had found something interesting about their presence in the area."

"That's it?" Hudson is disappointed. You understand, she is giving him as little as possible, and absolutely no details whatsoever. She as fallen silent again and simply nods. Hudson clearly looks like he is thinking really hard, raking his head for a question.

"You didn't ask for details?"

"No." The answer is definitive. Again detective Hudson is left grasping at straws. Beside you, detective Fabray is moving. She leaves the room and you see her open the door to the interrogation room a second later. The three people in the room turn to her.

"Hi, Miss Lopez, I am detective Fabray. Can I ask you a question?" Santana nods. Looking slightly interested in what is happening around her for the first time.

"What did you tell Mr Puckerman about the cartel?"

"I told him to stay away."

Hudson interrupts them: "Why?" They both turn to him clearly annoyed by the interruption.

"Because they are an extremely violent crime syndicate with a quasi paramilitary organisational structure and he was an idiot with an oversized ego and way too much sexual confidence." She sneers at him before turning back to detective Fabray.

"Why would he ask you about them Miss Lopez?" Detective Fabray continues as if she hadn't been interrupted. Santana turns to her lawyer who simply gives her a smile and a nod.

"I'm a doctorate student and my thesis is on the culture of violence and bribes in the cartels." Detective Hudson looks about to ask another question but detective Fabray interrupts him.

"Thank you very much for coming miss Lopez. Officer Pierce will guide you back to the door."

You make your way to the door just as Miss Lopez comes out leaning to her friend her lawyer, nodding to whatever she is saying. They both follow you through the station and leave without saying another word.

* * *

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this.


	3. Chapter 2

None of this is mine.

This is a much longer chapter and while there still hasn't been much Brittany/Santana interaction, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

As of 2012, Los Zetas has control over 11 states in Mexico, making it the drug cartel with the largest territory in the country.

* * *

After you have shown miss Lopez and her lawyer to the door you make your way back to your desk. But you stop short: your desk adjoins detective Fabray's and detective Hudson is standing there; complaining loudly to anyone who will hear him and detective Fabray looks like she is about to snap: holding on for dear life to her desk, hands clenched to the side of the wooden table rather than wrapped around the neck of her fellow detective.

You may have noticed her annoyance but detective Hudson clearly has not, he is pouting and whining about her interruption in the interrogation room. You know for a fact he had run out of questions to ask and brain cells to use and that his main issue is the fact that after three days, he still has a guy dead with his small intestine outside his body, a bullet to the head and no leads whatsoever.

"She admitted to sleeping with him, she could have killed him because of that." Detective Fabray scoffs but he keeps going undeterred. "She wasn't very forthcoming… She brought her lawyer with her…" You are not sure what it was whether her attitude in general or her disregard of him and his questions, but detective Hudson clearly dislikes his witness.

"You're grasping at straws because you don't like her." Fabray has apparently tired of his ramblings and tells him so in a cutting voice. You cannot help but wish you had the guts (no pun intended) to do that kind of things. Unfortunately, you are not detective Fabray and don't have her ability to stare grown men into silence. You are thankful though; detective Hudson dejectedly drags his feet back to his desk, finally leaving you alone.

The next morning you have another briefing, Hudson is presenting is progress or lack thereof to everyone.

"We are waiting for tech to come back with whatever was on his computer. Hopefully they'll be able to find out what he really was working on, his friends didn't know in detail and weren't very…"

Sergeant Sylvester does not let him finish.

"Are you privileging the cartel lead or do you have any other theories?"

Everyone's interest peaked at that, cases involving organised crime are always messy. Hudson fumbled with his answer.

"Well, for now we don't know, we also have an ex-girlfriend." He stares at detective Fabray while saying that. "It's an alley worth exploring."

"She wasn't happy to be called to the station, but to assume she would be vindictive enough to disembowel him is quite a step from unfriendly." Detective Fabray interrupts. "I now think we should consider whether his article could have something to do with his murder. Neither one of his friend knew exactly what it involved, but the Los Zetas are not to be trifled with…"

Sergeant Sylvester looks interested by that theory.

"Ok, Fabray, you are running points on this. Ask for help from Schuester if you need, he is after all the head of the gang task force. At least until I can get him fired." The Sergeant and detective Schuester have been at war with each other since forever. It's funny to watch though it does not help your precinct's clearance rate. "Follow up on everything and light a fire under the chair of that useless tech if you have to."

Fabray and Hudson both acquiesce, not that they had much of a choice: no one without a death wish disagrees with the Sergeant. Hudson though looks like a grumpy toddler whose toys' have been taken away.

Detective Fabray turns to him, ignoring the look on his face. "Keep on the ex girlfriends, the one you talked to mentioned 'sexual confidence' she didn't seem jealous, but there might have been others."

Once he leaves she looks at you. "Find me everything we have on file about Los Zetas in the archives. And get on Artie's case, we need whatever this Puck was working on." It is only then that you realise she got rid of Hudson the only way she could: giving him what was in her mind a dead end to investigate. If the victim was indeed a ladies' man, it would take a while to sift through all of his relationships and identify the exes crazy enough to take a knife to a guy's gut and own a gun.

"Detective, Artie has what we asked for." You say to detective Fabray to get her attention. "He sent it to your email."

She nods and opens the attached files. You do the same.

"What was that guy doing?" She wonders out loud after reading a couple of pages. You shrug because you don't have an answer. There are Excel documents full of numbers and notes, what seems like a to do list Word document and a couple of pictures of random people in front of a bodega and a coffee shop; but absolutely no article. "We are going to need help. I don't like the look of this. He really was investigating something." She dials a number in her phone as she speaks. "Detective Schuester? I have something you might find interesting."

When Schuester arrives, and looks at all the numbers, he congratulates both of you on your find before agreeing with detective Fabray that you are all kind of out of your element. A number's man he is not. Though he does identify one of the guys in the photo as a gang leader with suspected affiliation to Los Zetas. You pull up his picture while detective Schuester calls in a favour from one of his numerous lady friends.

"She can't come right now, says she's too busy." He looks dejected when he finishes his phone call. "But she is sending someone else to help."

While you wait for the promised help, you and detective Fabray take over one of the few spare rooms in the precinct, covering one of the walls with photos of the crime scene, print outs of everything Artie found on the victim's computer as well as the result of all your research into gang related incidents in the area. There are a lot of them.

Once you are done, detective Hudson comes in without the results of his search into exes. Schuester requested him on the team. You should have known, those two have been thick as thieves ever since Hudson arrived to the precinct. At least that is what you've heard through the grapevine.

So you are left waiting for some expert with guys who have a weird mentor/mentee relationship and a girl you barely know but to whom you feel some kind of kinship: she looks just as disgusted as you are by the two men's bromance. The minutes are ticking by slowly; as Hudson and Schuester make stupid insider joke after stupid insider joke. The only redeeming factor to this wait is the Olympic grade eye rolling you see detective Fabray do.

They are coming up with their own secret handshake when finally Kurt knocks on the door, leading the expert in. You do a double take. Before you stands yesterday's more than reluctant witness, looking even less thrilled to be here than before. As Schuester stands to greet her, Hudson is the first of the three of you to recover.

"What are you doing here?" Schuester turns around surprised at Hudson's accusing tone. He points back and forth at all of them.

"You know each other?"

Detective Fabray is the one to answer. "Yes, she was a friend of the victim." And that is when you remember how she mentioned her thesis. Detective Hudson still looks like he swallowed something whole and cannot say a thing. Schuester begins to ask Fabray questions, trying to determine if we can accept her help.

"Was she a suspect?" Santana puffs, she looks if it is at all possible even more annoyed than when she walked in.

"If you don't want me, I'll go. I'm only doing Professor Holliday a favour. I have better places to be than this hellhole."

"No! Don't go! We actually had questions." You had not meant to sound so forceful. Your colleagues have now stopped and are looking straight at you like they have never seen you before. At least, she is now smiling, whether it is because you have embarrassed yourself or just because she appreciates the gesture you have no idea; so you smile back. Everyone else is looking so suspicious; you might as well be your friendly self. Plus Lord Tubbington and your Mom both say you have a really pretty smile.

You can see that detective Fabray is starting to agree with you, she never seemed to see Santana as a vindictive ex-girlfriend. Detective Hudson on the other hand is still shaking is head. The crazy ex theory was his baby and he was obviously not ready to let it go. "She was in a relationship with the victim!"

Before you have the time to say anything, Santana is answering him "It was high school. Don't tell me you've never done anyone and woken up to regret it?! Though from what I can see you're not the one who'd need beer goggles to have sex." Hudson's cheeks puff up, he gets all red and cannot find anything to say. You find it funny and cannot help the snort that comes out. You put your hand to your mouth and look around only Santana has noticed and she has a glint in her eyes that tells you she liked your reaction.

Detective Fabray does not need anymore convincing and decides she likes the woman. She gestures for her to take a seat. Schuester seems overcome by surprise. He has not said anything in a while. Rather than wait for him to wake up, you look to Fabray who nods to you.

"This is an Excel file we found on your friend's computer." You push a paper covered in numbers towards her. She takes it and carefully studies it. It is interesting to watch because she appears to be reading a lot more into it than you were. It seems like she knows what it is about. After a couple of minutes, she puts the paper back on the table.

"I am not entirely sure what it is." Detective Hudson scoffs. She turns to him, eyes shooting daggers.

"There is no context to these numbers. The first column is obviously a code for something. The second and third seem to be connected with the fourth. The fifth, I don't know about. It could be some kind of accounting sheet but without context or measurement units… I can't tell you what they are taking about." Throughout her explanation, her fingers have been dancing from column to column, pointing out what she is talking about and for the first time you see what she means. It is a spread sheet, like the ones you use to balance your budget, only way more complicated.

"But I still don't get how Puck got hold of it; if it really belongs to someone with links to the Cartel."

"What do you mean?"

"Well Puck was an nice guy but he wasn't exactly smart or cunning by any stretch of the imagination. I can't fathom how this came to be in his possession. And how he realised what he had. He shouldn't have been able to understand it." She points again to the spread sheet. "I mean, you say it's from Los Zetas but there nothing on this to show it. Technically, what you have are random columns of numbers on a piece of paper that could refer to anything."

"So you're saying if this does indeed come from someone associated with Los Zetas, that someone also helped Puck understand it…"

The more she talked, the more animated she became. This was evidently something she found interesting. She seemed grateful to detective Fabray for her question. "Yes! Exactly. He didn't come to me and I'm writing a dissertation on the Cartels. Not specifically on Los Zetas' New York operation but still… He must have found someone better informed, with more access than me. I just don't know how, or where."

This time you are the one to ask something. "How long ago did he come to you about his article? We need to find this insider and it would be helpful to know when he might have received all this."

She smiles at you not fazed by the interruption. "Must have been about a week ago... Last Thursday." She shrugs. "He bugged me to come and have drinks with him and then instead of flirting with anything with boobs he actually wanted to talk."

Last Thursday, helpful, for when one of the three detectives tells you to look into his phone bill to find out who he called, you will know where to start. Just then, she stands.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. Professor Holliday didn't say it would take so long and I'm busy this afternoon." And all the four of you can do is watch her flee the room as fast as she can.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 3

Not mine, just playing.

* * *

Jesus Valverde's been adopted as the spiritual protector for people involved in the illegal drug trade, and busts of his visage are often kept in Cartel businesses.

* * *

You are all left slightly shell shocked by Santana hasty departure. She had not stayed long but during the time she had spent working, she had been at her least hostile and confrontational. You wonder if she really was busy or simply needed an excuse to escape as quickly as possible.

Detectives Hudson and Schuester who remained silent during the entire time she was there finally break out of their catatonic state.

"You can't seriously be considering getting her to help!" The former exclaims still apparently hung up on his earlier misgivings.

"Well, she was helpful." You have to say something in her defence. "Now we have a new suspect: whoever supplied those documents to Puckerman."

You know detective Fabray agrees with you and you think Schuester does to. Only he cannot publically disagree with his homeboy so he is quietly looking over the spread sheet Santana broke down for you. He takes a couple of deep breaths before lifting his head.

"Finn, you and I will go looking for the mystery source of all those documents, if Miss Lopez is telling the truth, there should be some sort of trail leading back to him. We will also check Mr Puckerman's home and work place to see if we can't find more. Girls, keep on Artie's case, see if he can't find more. Also, do a background check on Miss Lopez, if it comes back clear, tell Sergeant Sylvester we'd like to use her. If she agrees, contact Miss Lopez again."

After you've dotted your Ts and crossed your Is (than expression never made sense), ran a background check on Santana Lopez, cleared it with Sergeant Sylvester… Detective Fabray and you are left with just one task: convince Miss Lopez to come and help you. Ambushing her at her job might not be the brightest idea; but as much as she could filter your phone calls, she has no way to avoid you as you make your way into room 501 of Milbank Hall. Her face falls a little as she notices the two of you walking in amongst her students.

"Hello"

"…"

"Miss Lopez, we are sorry to disturb you here but we need your help."

"No."

Her tone is definitive, cutting and does not invite any more discussion. Despite this, you persevere; you ask her a further three times; after each time, her rebuttal becomes more and more brutal. The final answer is in Spanish. You do not speak a word of it, but judging by the faces of the students in the class, it's not pretty.

"Well thank you for your time Miss Lopez, we won't hold your class up any longer." Detective Fabray and you make as dignified of an exit as possible. As you make your way through the corridor, you can hear Miss Lopez begin her class. "All right, listen up, this is introduction to Hispani…"

"We should talk to Schuester's lady friend, see if the professor can't make her help…" That just kind of escaped your mouth; you were not really planning on blackmailing anyone. You are however in kind of a tricky situation and the professor made her show up once, why not twice?! Detective Fabray is on board with the idea and you set out to find Professor Holliday.

"No way! I said NO five times already I don't mind doing it again!" So your plan to be sneaky and blackmail Santana is not going exactly as it should.

"Come on Sweet Cheek, you know you want to."

"No Holly, I don't want to. I was forced to the first time. Now, you don't have anything I want anymore."

"Oh honey, do you really think so?" It is really odd watching the two women talk. Holliday is now walking her fingers up Santana's arm, kind of in a sexy way, only not like she is trying to seduce her. Whatever she was trying to do, Santana relaxes and almost smiles. It is quite the experience: she has such a pretty smile.

"Anyways, you have to do it. I can't have sex with Will at the moment and…" A moment of reflection "I'll make sure you keep the 'intro to Hispanic Cultures' class next semester!" She is triumphant. She knows she has something on Santana and that will make her agree to help us. Santana knows it too. She make this weird growling sound, lets her head fall but does not disagree. You lift your hand up, but no one high fives you. Instead Fabray turns to Santana.

"When are you free Miss Lopez?" She says it with a smile, only not the polite kind; more the kind that says 'I won and I'll make you lick my shoes'. Santana knows what smile it is as well because she gives her another hypocritical smile back. That one you cannot decode as well but it probably means something like 'wait till I get you in a dark alley…' But she does not say anything else and simply pulls out her planner from her bag. She does not however seem all that eager to find time in there to fit going down to the precinct. You take the initiative.

"How about you come with us now and we see how far we get tonight and then you can put another session in there." They both look at you now. "Come on, I'll make sure to get you some food as well." You know you have won; she closes the planner and nods, almost smiling again. Detective Fabray looks impressed with you. You hope that means she will pay for the food you just promised.

You are back in the room where you have put all the evidence from your investigation. Detective Fabray is getting the three of you coffee and Santana is looking the evidence you hung on the wall over. She stops at the picture of her friend taken at the crime scene.

"Wait, That's Puck?!" She points to where she was looking. You nod. "Was he…" instead of saying it, she gestures to her stomach. You nod again. "Holly shit! I mentioned that story to Puck when he asked about Los Zetas; but I never…"

"You mean the story about the Mexican bloggers?"

"Yes, how do you know about that?"

"Your friend Miss Berry mentioned it. Did you tell her about it?"

"Berry's not my friend." She says it really quick, like the words just kind of escape from her mouth then she pauses, possibly for dramatic effect or simply to let herself think. "No I didn't. Puck probably did; he liked bragging about stuff."

"What would there be to brag about?"

"Knowing something Berry didn't; she's a bit of a know-it-all…"

You do not say anything at that; you do not have anything to say really. She gets back to studying the pictures and documents until detective Fabray comes back.

"Here you go Miss Lopez" You hand her a coffee. She is lucky, detective Fabray was feeling nice and went to the coffee shop nearby. Otherwise, she would be in for a nasty surprise what with the coffee that comes out of the precinct's machine.

"Santana."

"Sorry?"

"Miss Lopez is what the freshmen I teach call me. It makes me feel old." You want to reassure her, tell her she looks stunning, that she is most certainly not old but it would not really be appropriate.

"Sorry, Santana." You hold your hand out. "I'm Brittany." She tilts her head to the right and eyes you. "If I call you Santana, you can't be calling me Officer Pierce."

"Nice to meet you Brittany." She smiles as she shakes your hand. She sips her coffee in silence for a bit. Detective Fabray who had until then been silent coughs twice. Startled, you drop your gaze from Santana to your coffee cup. You wonder how long you had been staring before Fabray pulled you out of your reverie. Santana is also surprised by the interruption; but after a second, she recovers.

"I have a question, might be stupid…" She waits for a second, Fabray gives her a small nod, encouraging. "How can you be sure Puck was killed by the Cartel? I mean I know the area is run by gangs but the way he was killed, it's kind of symbolic…" She gestures to the crime scene photos. "It sends a message. When Los Zetas disembowelled two bloggers, they then hung them from a bridge for all to see. No one could see Puck there, it kind of loses it's purpose..."

"It is a certainly an interesting point you're making. But don't worry, we are exploring other leads." Detective Fabray gives her the typical NYPD speech that does not mean anything. Santana nods, not at all offended by the stonewalling.

"I wasn't telling how to do your job detective, don't worry. I just meant that maybe he asked the wrong person a question. I mean this is gangland and let us not forget the mafia… "

Detective Fabray is now eyeing her suspiciously. "How do you know where he was found?"

"I have no clue where he was found." She points to one of the photos recovered from Puck's computer. "But, that's East Harlem." She says it like it's obvious. You do not see how, all the photo shows are three stores and two people hanging out in plastic chairs in front of them. It had taken you three days to figure out where the photo was taken.

"How do you know that?" Your voice is disbelieving.

"I grew up two blocks down. Passed Mr Fernandez' watch shop everyday on my way to school." The watch shop is indeed in the photo. It is how you identified the address too; only you had to google it. "Anyway, if Puck started asking questions or taking pictures around the neighbourhood, he would get into trouble and not just with the Mexican Cartels. There are gangs and the mafia to contend with."

You ponder what is after all a very interesting perspective. It is true, the streets of New York are paved with many dangers and Santana's theory does not seem that far fetched.

"Which is also why I don't understand what Puck told the dwarf about a new pipeline." She squints her eyes really tight and scrunches her nose as she is thinking. You cannot say it out loud, but it is kind of cute. "To do anything in this part of town without a blood bath, they'd need to talk to the Genoveses."

"Wait!" You say, derailing her train of thoughts. "You are saying that in Spanish Harlem a Mexican drug cartel would need for the Italian mafia to give concent to be able to operate?!"

Santana is not all that fussed about the interruption and you are kind of glad because you are genuinely curious.

"In a way yes. They could do without but it would create tensions and then they'd risk exposure."

It makes sense in an odd way. But you are not from that world so it is still a foreign concept to you it seems however perfectly clear to Santana and detective Fabray. You are about to ask another question when Hudson and Schuester walk into the room carrying the most disgusting looking kebabs you have ever seen. Santana immediately tenses up. Schuester smiles at her.

"Hello there Miss Lopez, how is Holly doing?"

"She's alive detective." He seems a bit taken aback by her answer.

"Well isn't that what we all hope for in life."

Silence settles over the room after this. It is awkward in a way the silence from before when detective Fabray, Santana and you were reading was not. Santana looks at her watch and stands you do too.

"Well it's been almost bearable but I've got to go."

"I'll walk you out." You open the door for her and she smiles. As you make your way back out, you try and make conversation.

"Well, I'm sorry, we never fed you."

"Don't worry about that Brittany. It was fine anyway."

"If we need you again…" She does not let you finish and hand you a card.

"Here are my details. Call me…" You take it but she holds on for a second longer, smiling. "I'll expect dinner though."

You smile too. "I'll hold you to that." And she is gone. You go back to the room to regroup with the others.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	5. Chapter 4

Neither the show nor its characters belong to me.

* * *

New UNODC campaign highlights transnational organized crime as a US$870 billion a year business. With an estimated value of US$320 billion a year, drug trafficking is the most lucrative form of business for criminals.

* * *

It has been a few days since Santana gave you her card; since then however the investigation has not progressed much and you have not had an excuse to talk to her again.

You have gone to East Harlem asking questions around but it is not the kind of neighbourhood where you get answers when you wear a uniform so all those canvases have been pretty useless. Except for that one time when you had what might have been the best taco ever. Sadly you cannot remember exactly where you were and as you discovered when you tried to go back, there really are a lot of places that sell tacos in Harlem. If you had a reason to call her, you would ask Santana, maybe she would know.

Rachel Berry is the one who gives you the opportunity to use the phone number on the card you have been keeping safe in your wallet for a week now. She does so unwillingly when she publishes an exposé about the NYPD and their apparent incapacity to solve the murder of «a great friend, pool cleaner and editor as well as a considerate lover» and you are quoting. She also manages to mention part of your investigation as well as a lot more of what Puck was working on than you would expect from the information she had given you in her interview.

Sergeant Sylvester is fuming when she reads _The Muckraker_, practically requesting Rachel's head on a platter in retribution for what she sees as treason. She demands to know how Miss Berry acquired all the informations she included in her article and blames you and the three detectives for the leak.

To appease her, you all begin to any and all sources of the potential leak, which includes re-interviewing all the witnesses in the case file. Because you have her card, at least that is your excuse, you are the one to call Santana.

"Miss Lopez, sorry to bother you, it's Officer Pierce."

"I thought we'd agreed on first names Brittany?!" You can hear the teasing smile in her voice and smile back; even though she cannot see you.

"Sorry."

"That's quite all right. Are you calling to invite me to dinner?"

"Yes! No! I mean…" You cannot help but fumble with your answer and you can hear her laughing at you for it. "I'd love to. But we actually need you to come down to the station." She stops laughing then.

"…"

"Could you do today? I know you are teaching a class today but last week you were free afterwards." You are crossing your fingers, you really hope she does not make this situation more difficult than it is and you do not want to have to show up to her class again..

"Sure, today. I can be there at 3." It is not the same pleasant tone she had for the first part of your conversation.

"Thank you so much."

Despite what you feared Santana does show up at the station at three. You are there with detective Fabray to welcome her. The three of you sit in the same interrogation room she was in her first time at the station.

"Did you see Miss Berry's article on your friend Noah Puckerman's murder?" Detective Fabray is taking points on this interview you are not even sure why she asked you to sit in on it.

"Yes." Santana's arm are crossed in front of her, she is leaning in her chair, clearly defensive.

"Did you realise she wrote about details of our investigation that were never made public?"

"No."

"Do you know where she might have gotten this information?"

"No."

"Are you aware that you were granted access to quite a lot of our investigation last week?" Detective Fabray is not known for her patience and she is starting to get extremely frustrated with Santana monosyllabic answers.

"So you think I gave her the information?" She leans forward in her seat, arms still crossed but now resting on the table. Detective Fabray simply nods.

"Well I didn't." Santana leans back into her chair.

"Miss Lopez, please understand we are going to need more than your word on that."

"I don't care what you do detective, I didn't say anything to anyone about Puck's murder." She shrugs.

"If you are not the source, where would Miss Berry get that kind of information?"

"That's a question for her not for me. We hang out sometimes; she talks, I don't listen; she annoys me, I threaten her. That's the extend of our relationship." She stands. "If you have anymore questions, talk to Tina, she's my lawyer."

"Santana." You do not know what makes you stop her. "I was canvassing your old neighbourhood a couple of days ago and I had tacos." Detective Fabray is looking at you like you are crazy. "They were amazing, only I can't find the place anymore. I was wondering if you'd know…" Santana is smiling however so you decide to see asking this question as a good idea.

"Hector's. On 3rd Avenue and 122nd. At least that was my favourite. My brother swore by the Guillermo Brothers', it's on the same block."

"Thank you so much. You wouldn't believe how much I dreamt about these…" She is laughing again, not at you but with you, because she finds you funny. Even detective Fabray seems to be loosening up a bit, she has a small smile playing on her lips.

You hold the door for the two of them. Detective Fabray goes to her desk while you walk Santana out.

"Santana…" You are not sure what is making you do this now but you started. "Would you maybe want to try Hector's tacos with me? I've not had lunch and I was thinking that maybe you…"

She looks incredibly embarrassed. "Britt…" She rubs the base of her neck. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer." You can feel your face drop. It is not the first time a woman has rejected your advances, you have got none of that famous gaydar people always talk about, but this one stings worse than usual. Most of the time, you just brush it off and move on; you are not one to get bothered by a woman or a man saying no. But it still hurts a lot: you really thought she liked you…

"It's just that I can't get tacos with you; especially not from Hector or with you in that uniform." You pick up on her last few words.

"What's wrong with my uniform?" You put on your thinking face, scrunching your eyebrows together, tilting your head to the side; most people could never say no to that face.

"My dad always said: never trust a man in a uniform."

"But I'm not a man…" You gesture to yourself. You know even people who are not that into uniforms or girls have to admit you look pretty great right now. Santana is smiling, you hope she agrees.

"Yeah, but you're still in a uniform."

"So if I took it off…" You know you are playing dumb right now, but that usually works out well for you. Again she has a smile on her face.

"I still wouldn't go to Hector's with you Britt." Her smile softens, almost disappears and even though she does not say it, you can hear the 'I'm sorry' she wants to add; you are good at reading people and you know today is not the day you will get to eat with Santana. You give her a small smile back; it is meant to mean 'that's OK, I understand, but I'm still sad.' You think she gets it. She goes down the three steps and once she is on the pavement looks back up to where you are standing one last time before heading towards the nearest subway station. And as sad as you are to see her go, you cannot help but think she looks damn good doing so.

* * *

Thank you for reading.

* * *

I am moving tomorrow so there might be a slight delay in-between updates: I don't have a place yet so I'll be shuffling between friends so I may not have as much time to write and review my chapters. Sorry.


	6. Chapter 5

As it turns out, finding a place to live wasn't all that hard, getting it connected to the internet is… Sorry for the delay, all I have now is this really slow connection I can barely do anything with…

* * *

Organised crime threatens peace and human security, violates human rights and undermines economic, social, cultural, political and civil development of societies around the world.

* * *

The Puckerman case as basically gone cold: no forensics evidence, no witness and absolutely no leads. Every thing you investigate turns out to be just one more dead end; until your victim is just one more statistic; one more person who'll never get justice; one more box full of clues and notes on the unsolved shelf at the evidence locker. There is just nothing more to be done.

One day, you'll catch some kid red-handed, dealing drugs or committing a more violent crime and maybe he'll offer to tell you the truth about 'the guy who was gutted in the alley' in exchange for a lighter sentence...

Until then all you can do is get back to securing crimes scenes, running plates and making phone calls…

Right now you are standing before the body of a really really old guy. Like so old you're not sure why anyone would shoot him, he was going to die sooner rather than latter anyway… Everyone in the neighbourhood seems kind of upset though; maybe really old guy liked saying hello to the people passing by his plastic chair; you don't know but what you know is that you've never had such a turn out to see a guy slumped in a plastic chair before.

Detective Fabray is the one who answers the call this time.

"Hello detective. This was Giuseppe Iannelli. 87 years of age. Apparently he sat in that chair every day, rain or shine. From what I gathered, he only left to get coffee inside."

You've said all you had as she looks at the body.

"I think someone took his cane…" You hesitated before saying that, no one mentioned a cane to you but you have a hunch. She turns to you.

"What makes you think that?"

"The indent in the gravel on the right side of his chair and the cuff mark on the wall. Plus he was like really old." She laughs a little at the last thing you say but you know she agrees with you because she was nodding along before and she is now staring at the slightly chipped paint on the wall.

"Have someone take a photo and ask about it to the owner. If he had coffee here every day they must know what colour it was or something." She looks around. "I don't suppose anybody saw anything?!"

You shake your head; they don't have that kind of neighbourhood watch around here. You still make it a point to ask questions to anyone you can get your hands on, you get statements from all the shop owners around, from a couple of kids who should really be in school, old ladies with shopping bags and young mothers on their way to the park. It's in moments like these you wish you worked in a tiny town like the one you grew up in: there never were that many people around.

You manage to slip away about two hours after what normal people with normal jobs consider lunchtime and get a taco from Hector's; which was indeed the one you had been looking for. Every time you eat there, you can't help the small twinge in your heart: you're eating Santana's favourite and she refused to have it with you… You should be over it by now, it has been almost two weeks but there you are wondering what she would choose to put in hers.

Getting back to the precinct takes you way too long and today has not been a great day. You've spent a couple of hours standing up under the boiling sun without eating anything; you've had to talk to what feels like half a million people so you'll have a lot to write up and you've realised you still want a date with Santana. At least, it's now late enough that once you're done with your paperwork, you'll get to go home. You hope Lord Tubbington hasn't disappeared on one of his drug binges because you could really use a hug right about now. You park your car in autopilot, barely missing the unmarked next to you and make your way to the back door of the station. You are so tired you almost forget to lock it.

It takes you a further three hours to complete all your reports, cross all your Ts and dot all your Is. Once you've changed you walk out the door grateful that it's summertime: you still have a couple of hours of sunshine left in the day. You start going down the steps when a voice behind you stops you.

"Hey Brittany!" It's kind of shy and hesitant; you turn and see Santana leaning by the station door; she isn't supposed to but you don't mention it. You don't say anything because really there isn't much you can say, you are quite surprised to see her.

"I tried calling you but I realised I didn't have your number…" You want to smile because seeing her has just made your day that much better but, you are a cop, you know a lazy excuse when you hear one. So you just lift your eyebrows as high as they will go, daring her to repeat the same lie. She doesn't instead she makes her way down the stairs to where you are standing. You can now see the hesitation in her eyes; she has lost the bravado with which she addressed you when she was leaning against the wall, now all she has left are nerves.

"Hello Santana" There isn't much for you to say, you don't know what is the appropriate way to greet a girl you haven't seen in two weeks and who shot you down when you asked her out. Even once you've said something, not even remotely aggressively you might add, Santana is still standing looking at you nervously. You smile at her a little hoping to calm her jittery nerves slightly so that she'll start talking to you. She smiles back, a smile so bashful that you can't help the fact that your grin gets bigger and as she sees your mood brighten, she finally relaxes into the conversation.

"How can I help you Santana?"

"You're not in your uniform anymore…" It's really not what you were expecting her to say; you can't say what you were expecting but you're certain it wasn't this. Seeing you frozen brings the nerves back out for her. "I'm sorry Britt, I didn't mean to…" If the previous sentence was all bravado this one is shy and hesitant.

"I just don't understand. Two weeks ago you said no and now…" You are not playing hard to get, but you just don't like being toyed with, just because you're friendly doesn't mean you can't get hurt.

"I'm sorry Brittany, I'm just sorry Ok, I can't explain or give a reason, but you have to believe me, I am sorry." You can't help but laugh: no one has ever apologised to you that much before. You can't help it, but you can see she doesn't find it all that funny because she makes this really cute 'I'm confused face'. You can feel your own features soften little by little.

"Relax, I'll admit I was a little mad at first. Sad as well." Her face drops as you speak. "But I'm Ok, we're Ok." There a small smile now playing on her lips. "I'm just not sure what you want from me Santana." There you've said it. The question has been on your mind since you heard her call after you. She hesitates a second:

"I'm not sure Britt…"

"Is it because I'm a girl?"

"No." She snorts. "I've reconciled with that part of me a while back. It's…" She stops, takes a deep breath and puts it through her hair, it messes it ever so slightly and she looks absolutely perfect. "I…" You take pity on her and smile.

"Santana, would you like to have coffee with me?" She looks at you; you can see the relief in her eyes as she nods enthusiastically.

You start walking up towards Lexington when she puts her hand on your arm.

"I'd rather we went down." She points in the opposite direction to the one you headed.

You don't have any objections to that change in the plan and she looks so shy you agree with her and let her guide you down Park Avenue. You walk silently side by side for a while. You pass a number of coffee shops from tiny stores with barely enough place for more than the counter to corporate giants with long queues and even longer drink names but Santana seems to know where she's going so you are happy to simply follow along. You've walked about ten minutes in comfortable silence when she suddenly stops. You lift your head and notice a small storefront.

"Is here Ok?" You simply nod, you don't really care what the chocolate you get taste like: you're here for the hot girl, not the hot drink. She pushes the door and holds it for you. The cool air hits you as you walk in. She orders a black coffee and turns to you.

"A hot chocolate please."

"Do you want a pastry?" She is nervous again. You make a non-commitmental shrug and she turns back towards the barista to pay. You pick a small table in a corner and wait for her to come with the drinks.

"I took a lemon tart, we can share if you want." She pushes a plate and one of the two spoons she brought towards you.

Now that you're away from the precinct, in a neutral zone, Santana relaxes fully and becomes witty. She makes clever if slightly biting comments towards passers-by; she describes some of her students and you can't help but laugh at the right moments. The two of you however avoid any mention of your job. You've long finished all you bought when you notice the time and realise you have to leave. As you tell her, she becomes shy again; as if the past hour never happened.

"Maybe you could give me your number…" She pushes a napkin towards you. "So I don't have to ambush you all the way up on 119th."

You take the peace offering for what it is and smile as you carefully write down your number.

"Don't wait two weeks" It's brazen, you know she'll be uncomfortable with mentioning the past two weeks but you still do it; least of all because as you hoped it makes her blush. You stand as she brushes her finger on the numbers etched in the napkin eyes firmly turned down.

"Goodbye Santana." And you kiss her on the cheek.

* * *

Thank you for reading and sorry again for the wait; but I am dependant on a rather moody internet connection.


	7. Chapter 6

Starting work at 6am is just as awful as it sounds; the only good thing about it is that I still have most of my day to do other things; like writing…

* * *

Los Zetas are the largest cartel and could have as many as 10000 members across Mexico, Central America and the United States.

* * *

She does not wait two weeks to contact you again: she waits exactly 68 hours. When you get her message, you cannot help but wonder if she googled 'How long do I wait before contacting a girl' because the first answer is: 'more than two days, less than three'; you would know, it is what you did the first time a girl gave you her phone number... Or maybe Santana is just smooth like that and she knew when she sent it that her text would find you as you were staring down your phone willing it to ring. You think it is the former because her text is just as shy as she was…

"Hi Brittany, it's Santana." You do not reply, not because you feel like letting her stew but because the next day when she comes out of class you are leaning against the wall of her classroom and you say:

"Hey Santana!" She is to say the least surprised: she jumps, almost stumbles, puts her hand on her heart and turns her head towards you. When she finally recognises you, her face breaks into a smile.

"I was hoping you'd call, but this is way better…" It took you way too long to plan your outfit this morning but you are glad because she is clearly checking you out.

"You surprised me at work, thought I'd do the same." You smirk. "I give as good as I get…" You think she blushes slightly under her dark skin; it's just much harder to tell on her than on you. She looks around the corridor you're having this conversation in and you notice for the first time that there are people around.

"Come on, I don't need this getting back to the head of department. " She says it only half jokingly so you can tell she is serious and you let her guide you to a tiny office with two desks, two chairs and bookcases lining all the walls. You donot know how they managed to put all this in because everything is covered in books: the bookcases are overflowing with files and books. She sets her bag on the cleaner of the two desks and sits she gestures for you to take the other chair.

"Sugar's never here on Tuesdays."

"Wait, you actually share this office!?" You do not mean to sound so incredulous but you genuinely cannot believe it; it just seems too small for one person let alone two.

"Yes, with Sugar." She grimaces. "She is one of the other grad students." She points to all the papers littering the second desks. "She takes care of one of the Spanish beginner classes…"

"And what's with the books?"

"The teachers believe this is their storage room. I tried closing it but Sugar never takes her keys and Dr. Hempson, the professor of Russian literature and cinema complained. He is the worse offender." She's now pointing towards two piles of books on the floor whose titles you cannot understand.

"Is her name really Sugar?"

She snorts: "I know right! What were her parents thinking?!" You shrug; you have to admit you kind of want to know. "I haven't asked." There is a lull in the conversation; you are happy to simply enjoy her presence but Santana seems to have other ideas.

"Come on, let's see if I can't find you an other hot chocolate…" You smile and stand up: a really pretty girl is offering you a drink, who are you to refuse?

She has her hand on the door handle when someone knocks.

"Miss Lopez?" A student passes her head through the small opening of the door. She notices you. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were busy…"

"That's Ok Anna." Santana is reassuring. She turns to you with a small smile. "Brittany, would you mind waiting in the hall for a bit?"

You nod, leave and take a seat in what seems to be a waiting area. It takes about ten minutes before Santana's door opens again.

"Thank you Miss Lopez."

"No problem Anna." She has her bag on her shoulder and closes her door as she replies. She then turns to you. "Sorry about that; but ignoring students is bad if I want to get a job here."

You start walking together. You are really glad because the building is a maze and Santana's office seems to be in at the centre of it. "Don't you already have a job?"

"Technically yes, but there's an opening for a full time teaching job here and I'm hoping to get it once I finish my dissertation. What I do right now is simply part time; it pays part of the costs of being a student. I'm also a student advisor. Being a student is expensive." You nod, you remember taking classes at college and having to pay for them: you worked part time as a barista.

Sitting in a coffee shop near the faculty building you just left and drinking coffee with Santana is just as fun as it sounds: she paid for your drink, conversation is flowing between you and she is laughing at your jokes, what more can you ask for?

After what seems like not enough time but is actually more than an hour, Santana stands up.

"Britt." She is shy again. "I'm glad you came, but I have to go."

"I'm glad you didn't wait two weeks to contact me again…" You are smiling but she lowers her eyes: half ashamed, half embarrassed. "We should do it again." She perks up at that.

"Yeah?" There is a small timid smile illuminating her features, you do not think she has ever looked prettier. You nod. "Yeah… I'll call you." You stand quickly; kiss her on the cheek, close to her mouth, way closer than last time and leave not waiting to see her reaction.

After the coffee date with Santana, you have a fantastic couple of days, bodies still drop, patrol duty still sucks but you have a smile almost permanently plastered on you face. You have been texting regularly and if you were a betting (wo)man you would put money on that being the reason for your good mood, not that you are ever really grumpy. Your colleagues have noticed, detective Fabray with whom you have been working quite a lot since the Puckerman case is looking at you like she wants to ask a question. She does not though. You do not have that kind of a relationship. You hang out together at work because that way you do not have to listen to anyone else's dumb comments and lame pick-up lines.

It's been four days since you had coffee with Santana; apparently she has a big dead line with her thesis and needs to be writing. She explained everything in detail but you did not really understand much other than the fact that it is really important so you are letting her take the reins for now and decide when you see and talk to each other. You have spent the past two days hoping she would be free soon but what you did not expect was to come into the precinct and see her waiting.

"Santana?!" She looks uncomfortable as ever clutching to her bag like it's going to fly away. She turns to you. Seemingly surprised to see you.

"Brittany…"

"Can I help you?"

She takes a newspaper out. "I need to talk to detective Fabray." You lead the way to desk where Fabray is sitting. "You have a problem." Santana says as she slams the newspaper down on the wooden surface; surprising Fabray who looks from Santana to you clearly not pleased.

"With what?"

"Zio Peppino's dead."

You do not know who that supposed to be but the other two clearly do. "What?!" Fabray grabs the paper. You look over her shoulder, it is the obituary section; there are about two lines about last week's really old dead guy. You knew Santana was from that neighbourhood but you had not expected her to react that way or for him to be that important.

"Shit." It is the first time you've heard Fabray swear; she might be the only NYPD detective whose mouth does not normally need to be washed with soap. "I didn't realise." Santana lifts her eyebrows; she and Fabray have this weird conversation only with their eyebrows. They lift one, then the other, then Santana lifts both of hers and Fabray turns to you.

"Pierce, call Schuester and Sergeant Sylvester." She thinks for a minute. "Get Hudson as well. Tell them to meet us in room 2." As you pick up the phone the two of them make their way towards the back room animatedly discussing what judging from their reaction seems to be really important.

Once you have managed to contact everyone like she asked; not an easy feat when you cannot tell them why they are being summoned; you go to the back room they went into.

"I never made the connection…"

"Lopez is much more common than Fabray, easier to blend in…" The door is ajar and they are speaking in hushed voices, you are not supposed to be hearing this conversation. You take a couple of steps back and make sure that the sole of your shoes squeak loudly on the floor before knocking and coming in. They are now standing further apart than before and they are staring at you, the intruder, probably wondering if you heard.

"They're coming detective."

"Thank you."

* * *

I want to thank everyone who's commented on the story this far and I would like to apologise a little for the length of my chapters. I have to say though that I feel more comfortable publishing shorter chapters: I feel like my English as well as my sanity both benefit from this measure. So while I am sympathetic to your plight, I will keep on updating the way I do.

I do have to say though that as soon as I manage to get a reliable internet connection, my updates shall be more regular.


	8. Chapter 7

I now have internet. It is about as slow as dial up and only available in the living room but it is there and when all the elements are cooperating, I can even upload documents and scour the web for fact-checking purposes... Enjoy.

* * *

"I swear not to divulge this secret and to obey with love and omertà. As burns this saint so will burn my soul. I enter alive into this organization and leave it dead." Mafia pledge recorded in 1989 in Connecticut by the FBI.

* * *

"What is it Fabray?!" The door opens so wide and so hard it hits the wall making the three of us in the room jump. In come Sergeant Sylvester and a couple of seconds later detectives Hudson and Schuester.

"Giuseppe Iannelli, our vic from last week? He was Zio Peppino."

"How did we only find that out now?" Sylvester demands, you still are not sure who this Zio Peppino was and judging from his face neither is detective Hudson. The same detective Hudson whose fault it was as far as you can tell: both Sylvester and Fabray are glaring daggers at him and even Schuester looks less than thrilled with his protégé.

"What?"

"Hudson, I thought you were handling the Iannelli case."

"Yes, it's still on going. "

"Then, how did you not know he was an caporegime for the Genovese family?" Sylvester punctuated each word with a firm slap of the flat of her hand on the table. Hudson recoiled each time he heard the banging noise.

"I'm sorry, he was what?"

"A crew chief." Fabray's voice is dripping with the disdain she feels for the clueless detective. Clearly, Hudson is not a fan of Mafia films, because even that word does not seem to conjure up any kind of image; he looks confused as ever.

"A boss. He led a small crew of men for the Genovese family." Santana is the one who speaks up after Fabray's intervention. Boss does it, and you all can see the realisation that hits him.

"It never came up."

"It never came up?!" If Sylvester was furious a minute ago, she is now irate. "Are you kidding me?" She is getting closer and closer to him and while she is shorter, Hudson clearly is the one feeling threatened by her he is cowering, seeking refuge behind Schuester with whom he came in and who has not said anything.

"I did a background check, nothing panned out…" Hudson's voice is defensive, clearly isn't willing to admit his mistakes. Sylvester is rapidly loosing the minuscule amount self-control she has and seems ready to jump on her detective.

"How did we find out?" Schuester speaks up and everyone turns to him surprised to hear his voice. "How did we find out that this Iannelli was Peppino?" He is looking at Fabray for an answer.

"Miss Lopez." The attention shifts to Santana who is sitting at the table staring at a crack clearly uncomfortable with the attention. "She came in with the funeral section of the paper and pointed it out to me."

"How did you know?" Schuester is demanding to know. Santana however does not seem all that interested in satisfying his curiosity.

"The more important question is how will you avoid the bloodshed that's sure to happen tomorrow at his funeral…" She lets the last few words die on their own, a thinly veiled threat that no one, not even detective Hudson, misses.

"What makes you think that something is going to happen?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She is looking around; no one seems to have followed her train of thoughts, you are kind of glad because you would have felt kind of silly otherwise. "Someone is making a move on the neighbourhood and wants to cut the Italians out of the equation."

"What makes you so sure Miss Lopez?"

"Because Zio Peppino was protected by his status, no one should ever have dared touch him!" Santana is now getting agitated as she explains her fears. "The fact that the Genovese haven't retaliated, at least not visibly is also worrying. They have to know who killed him and they should have sought vengeance." She is not just saying those things, her whole body is moving as the words come out of her mouth and you wonder if she does the same in her classes; you would even have been interested in math with a teacher like that. "I'm not sure what it says about the newcomers that the Genoveses haven't done anything."

"So you really think something is going to go down then?" Hudson can be really dense but the good thing about keeping a guy like that around is that when you have a genuine question, he will ask it for you (along with about twenty stupid ones).

"Yes." She is getting exasperated now with the questions and the lack of understanding in the room. "Someone shot Zio Peppino on the stool he was spending his retirement on, spying on everyone. They are saying something; sending a rather loud message. Someone is bound to want to reply, the five families, the gangs, I don't really know who; but the Who's Who of criminals is going to be at that memorial service." She gestures to the paper in Sylvester's hands. "Something's bound to happen."

Everyone stares at the paper where the date and time of Giuseppe Iannelli's funeral service is announced as if the incidents Santana is foreseeing are visible in the ink and then after what feels like a while but is probably only a minute, Sylvester springs into action.

"You." She turns to Santana. "Thank you for your help." She turns to you "Get as many people as possible in here now. Contact head quarters." You turn to leave and she turns to Hudson. "I'll deal with your incompetence later." He gulps loudly before leaving the room, hot on your heels.

The bombshell Santana dropped on the precinct starts up a flurry of activities, it seems like within minutes everyone comes to the station, every desk is occupied and every phone is ringing. Meeting rooms are filled to the brim with people in for briefings… Plans of the cemetery are pulled up and requests for everything from coffees to sewer maps are given to you and your fellow officers. You barely have time to grab a chocolate bar.

It is only much later when all the loose ends in the plan Sylvester has drawn up to prevent problems are neatly tied and as you get ready to leave for the day that you notice Santana slipped out at some point; forgotten by all without saying anything. You are not the only one who has noticed, you can see Fabray staring at the chair Santana sat on during her time at the station. You want to ask about what you heard, but you do not say anything to the detective. It does not seem like a smart idea. Instead you send a text to Santana.

You do not really expect an answer so you are surprised when your telephone rings and she is calling you. "Hey Britt… So my thesis is kicking my butt tonight…" You have noticed that Santana sometimes needs a while to ask stuff, she seems to think every word over before saying it. So instead of rushing her, you wait silently. "And I was wondering if maybe you'd like to get food with me?" You cannot help but smile, no matter how tired you feel; you are always up to see her. You tell her so and you can hear the relief in her voice.

Making your way to the address she has texted you takes you quite a while and it is basically exactly on the opposite side of your apartment. You can feel the weariness of your body all the way to your bones; but when you walk into the restaurant and see her waiting for you, you feel yourself brighten and some of that strain leaving you.

"Hey…" She is all shy again. Partially hiding behind her menu.

"What are you having?"

"Pecorino." She says it quickly, without looking at the words printed. You want to laugh instead you just ask: "Come here often?" She flusters and does not really answer. Your pizzas come and you start eating yours as fast as you can; kit-kats are not enough for you.

"Whoa Brittany, slow down, it'll still be here if you take time to chew." Eating like an ogre is not the way to impress pretty girls, you know it but you cannot help yourself tonight. Santana though does not look too put off as she is smiling at you. You are also grateful that you do not have sauce all over your t-shirt: you look good in anything but that might be pushing the envelope more than arm warmers.

It is already ten and you have a long journey back home and a long day ahead of you tomorrow. You tell her so and the look in her eyes almost makes you sit back down. You cannot though. So instead, you pay for both your pizzas and help her put her jacket on. Once you are outside, she walks you to the subway and as you stand there, awkwardly trying to say goodbye, you take the plunge.

"Santana." Something in your tone make her lift her eyes and look you in the eye. "Would you maybe want to go on a date with me?" She does not say anything but does not say no either. "Like a proper one, I'll pick you up, we'll eat and then I'll walk you back home…" You cannot help but look down to your feet now. You are also wriggling your hands nervously. You hear a sharp breath intake and see Santana put her hands on yours stopping you. You look up. She is smiling softly at you.

"I'd love to."

She is smiling, wider than you have ever seen her before, and you know you are doing the same. You hear your train is coming so you take her face in your hands softly and kiss her, straight on the mouth. Just as quickly, you drop your hands back down and start running down to the platform.

"I'll call you!"

* * *

I am still incredibly surprised that people are actually reading this. So thank you again.


	9. Chapter 8

Rainy Sundays where I don't work make me productive. Be glad...

* * *

The Zetas were formed in the late 1990s by 14 soldiers who deserted from army special forces to work as muscle for the Gulf Cartel. Their name comes from a military radio code.

* * *

In fourth grade, you went to Archibald's, and two years later to Peppy's funeral; but those were your class's goldfish, and your sister's hamster. Giuseppe Iannelli's funeral however is the first human funeral you'll ever attend. Therefore you are not entirely sure what to expect when you get there. In films, it usually rains, but today is a gorgeous day. You also always thought funerals were supposed to be quiet, subdued affairs, but it is clearly not the case here: you have not arrived yet, but you can already hear the voices and laughs of the large crowd of mourners.

Sitting in your car, you take your time to observe your surroundings, there are cars scattered all around the cemetery grounds, if a traffic warden were to come down now, the city would make a killing. Apart from the fact that everyone is wearing black, this funeral looks more like the fourth of July gathering in your village than what you saw in films. You tell detective Fabray who is sitting next to you exactly that. Her only answer is to laugh darkly.

"That's because Pierce, it's not a funeral to honour anyone. It's not what this is about at all. A violent death is a normal part of life for these men. Therefore, this is only a way for all those attending to show their power, their connections." She points to one of the men. "That guy for example, was part of the East Harlem Purple Gang with Peppino. The woman with him is Danny the Lion's wife."

You nod, though you do not really know who anyone she is mentioning is. You have of course listened to all of the briefings before the op but it is still not enough to fill all the gaps in your knowledge.

"That's Barney Bellomo, he and Quiet Dom will be haggling for front row seats." With every name she mentions Fabray points to a different guy, whose name you have to assume it is. You wonder why Fabray is not one of the few chosen to stand closer to the coffin, she seems to know all the players but there with you sitting in a car warm enough to boil coffee, watching around for any unusual or threatening activities; for any sign of the apocalypse promised by Santana.

So far nothing. Like absolutely nothing. You've been observing the service; Quiet Dom got the seat he wanted, the one he and Little Larry Dentico argued about. Little Larry though did manage to score a good seat next to Gigante's widow, which is apparently a good thing. Now that everyone has settled into his or her seat however, the entertainment factor has gone down exponentially. Fabray next to you has also finally relaxed and stopped fidgeting in her seat. Apparently, Mafia funeral have the potential to get violent even when every one supposedly gets along.

But now, all that has been happening for the past half an hour has been a priest giving what feels to you like the world's longest eulogy. Fabray is attentively listening to the priest recounting of the now deceased mobster's "good and honest life, led in the face of God by a God respecting man…" scoffing at the appropriate moments. After the priest, a couple more people stand to talk. Their speeches are much shorter, though not more heartfelt.

Once they are done, the widow stands with a man you originally assumed was her son but is her son-in-law and puts a rose on the coffin. After her, her daughter and son-in-law do the same and then begins what can only described as a well rehearsed but uncoordinated ballet: one by one, all those in attendance make their way to the coffin. The first few rows go slow: each man taking the time to pay tribute to the dead man. By the third row, things accelerate: they now follow each other closely and do not really wait long before dropping their rose. When the seated mourners are done those standing make their way down to drop their roses, barely acknowledging the man there are saying goodbye to.

"They don't know him, they're only foot soldiers. Way too young as well." Is Fabray's explanation when you ask her about the ritual.

You notice her because she is one of the last mourners to go before the coffin and because unlike most of the others before her, she pauses slightly and touches the wooden case before dropping her flower. Also unlike most of the foot soldiers that came just before her, her clothes fit; they look well cared for and expensive. The last few men you saw go to the front wore cheap ill-fitting suits with busted up trainers: they clearly did not have proper dedicated funeral apparel. She does. And it suits her well: the skirt is short and tight without being indecent; the dress has long sleeves and she has a small hat with a veil on top of her perfectly styled hair. She looks like she belongs to the first three rows, not to the back.

You are not the only one who notices her. You can see Hudson crane is neck from his post by a tree to get a better look. Most of the mourners also stand up straighter as she passes. Even Fabray looks intrigued by the woman.

Every one is now standing up and mingling; she is now greeting the widow and a couple of the more important men. One of them lifts her veil slightly and pinches her cheek. She drops her eyes at the gesture but you are pretty sure you've recognised her. You are about to mention it to detective Fabray when the two of you notice movement on the outskirts of the cemetery. A posse, only men, is making its way towards the plot every one is grouped around. They have been noticed by all and you can see the faces tense up and the backs straighten as they make their approach.

"All units be on guard." Sylvester's voice over the radio breaks the silence that has fallen all over. Even Hudson seems to realise the significance of the newcomers as he stops ogling the girl's ass and starts concentrating on the task at hand.

While you are pretty sure none of the people assembled have brought their automatic weapon; you are also almost positive that they are all heavily armed anyways which immediately makes you uneasy: tense men with weapons is usually a recipe for disaster. The arriving men are all wearing black, like they had planned all along to attend the funeral and simply got delayed on their way. They are also smiling, seemingly the only one not affected by the tension in the air. Their leader a relatively young man comes up to the widow, bows slightly before her and then kisses her, her daughter and her son-in-law on each cheek. All those in attendance immediately relax; it is fairly obviously only a façade and none of the police personnel in attendance drop your vigilance but even with your inexperience and lack of understanding you know that this was an important test. You are not sure what the result is and what the consequences will be but you are pretty sure all of New York will know pretty soon.

The tension is still thick but every one has now gone back to the discussing they were holding as if nothing had interrupted them. You look for the girl again but you can't see her. She slipped away when all the eyes where on someone else. You are still trying to find her when you phone rings, announcing a text.

"Are you free tonight or will you be at the funeral?"

* * *

This is a fairly short, fillery kind of chapter. I just felt this needed it's own separate chapter rather than be lumped with what comes after. Hopefully, you'll agree with me when you read chapter 9...

* * *

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.


	10. Chapter 9

Sorry for the delay, I was working the late shift this week and it just messed my whole schedule. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have never written anything like this so please be kind. I changed the rating to M to be safe, I don't think there's anything risqué in there.

* * *

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,

And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,

Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,

So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

* * *

It has been seven days since you have kissed Santana at the Subway station and six since the funeral. So far, you have seen her four times, it will be five as soon as you get off shift and you have not talked about either event. The first time Santana called you after your kiss, she sounded incredibly hesitant; and she did not bring it up. Neither did you: you really did not feel like trying your luck…

So far, you have met half an hour for coffee when getting off the night shift; for an hour-long lunch near Santana's faculty building and twice for dinner in a pizzeria and a Thai restaurant. Santana has always been the one to initiate the contact. Partly because she has shot you down when you offered lunch the first time but also because even now, when you have been talking and texting regularly, you can feel her hesitation. So rather than force her into anything, you let her set the pace, decide the location and time of your meetings; you are not even sure you can call them dates.

Still, you answer eagerly to every text she sends, and sometimes even send some unprompted; you never say anything consequential, avoiding mentions of work, funerals, tacos, subways and anything else you can think of that might make her run, still you do text her, describing Lord Tubbington's new girlfriend, your neighbours musical taste or rather lack-there-of... She has been replying to those with her own anecdotes: the students she caught going at it on machine 12 of the laundry room, her fellow teaching assistant Sugar, the books she has been reading... A steady flow of text messages throughout everyday since the funeral where you are still convinced you saw her.

You have done your hair all pretty, even though you are dead tired, you planned your outfit in advance so you would look your best and you bought flowers, a handful of daffodils, no more, because Santana mentioned her apartment is "smaller than a shoe box". According to the perfect date handbook you found at the library, you are doing pretty good. You are not wearing gloves because the guide was from the 50s. It was still pretty helpful: they had a whole section about going to a girl's home. It included meeting her parents which knock on wood is not happening today but taking out those specifics and replacing them with the chapter about taking a girl out to dinner, you got what you think might be the winning formula. Still, standing at her door two minutes early, you are feeling pretty nervous. The book said to arrive perfectly on time so you still have 74 seconds before you can ring the bell. 62. You want to wring your hands but, you are holding the daffodils. 47. You wonder if this top was the right choice. 24. You check your watch again. You tuned it to Sergeant Sylvester time so it should be pretty accurate… 17. Screw this. You are doing it, now.

You have barely pressed the bell when the door opens. Santana is leading nonchalantly on the doorframe, a cheeky smile on her face.

"I was wondering how long you'd be standing here for before ringing."

You go all red in the face, you can feel it. You bet your ears are as red as that time Sam pulled on your pants during the Christmas play.

"You… You were… Uh… Watching me!?" You find it difficult to get the words out. Santana nods her head slightly and keeps on smiling. You feel so embarrassed; this was not covered in the date handbook. Instead of saying anything and digging yourself an even deeper hole. You hold the flowers out to her. Looking at the bouquet, you wonder if you should not have gone with something more impressive, something to make a statement and get the two of you to forget what just happened.

Santana is no longer leaning on the doorframe, she is staring right at the daffodils and you really wish they were roses. She lifts her hands to her mouth, kind of smiles. "Are… Are those…" She gestures to the flowers. "Are those for me?" You nod.

Her face breaks into a big bright smile.

"No one has ever gotten me flowers." You are glad about that, otherwise she would know that daffodils are kind of lame as far as date flowers go. "They are so pretty…" She takes them from you. "Thank you so much Britt." She moves inside her apartment towards the kitchen area. She takes a big glass out and starts putting water in. "I don't have a vase, but that should do." She turns back round towards you. "Come on in Britt…"

You take a tentative step forward, inching towards the entrance to Santana's home. You are moving slowly; still unsure about whether you are welcome there or not. Santana seems to sense your indecision and rather than wait for you to make up your mind, she pulls you inside with one hard tug. She then closes her door, locking it.

"I thought we were going to dinner?" Craning your neck, you can see Santana putting the security chain on the door.

"I had hoped maybe we could have it here…" She has turned shy again. You smile though and she relaxes, seeing the agreement in your eyes.

"What did you make for us?" In the date handbook, a lady was supposed to cook either roast beef or a leg of lamb when receiving her suitor into her home for the first time. You do not think Santana is the type to serve either.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out." She winks going towards the pots and pans on the stove. You can hear sizzling and simmering; you wonder what smells like onions, caramel; when she lifts one of the lids, you stand on your tippy toes trying to see above her shoulder. "Brittany, don't be so impatient." She scolds you softly.

"Sorry, I can't help it, I was born curious…"

"Why don't you have a look around?"

"I can?" You have wanted to explore Santana's universe since before you set eyes on it.

"Mmmhh…" She nods. "Just don't open the cupboards, that's where the mess went." You laugh, as far as you can tell, Santana's apartment is spotless, her pens are lined up parallel and she has pilled her magazines by size.

You go to her bookcase, it is overflowing, and some of the shelves seem to be bowing under the strain of what they are holding. You read a couple of titles, some of them you have heard of others not at all. You cannot even understand all of them; some are in what you think is Spanish. You move on to the coffee table. There are more books there. One of them is opened you do not close it to see what it is, you just stare at the illustration.

"Dulac." You lift your eyes from the beautiful woman on the page to the one standing before you.

"Sorry?"

"The illustration. It's by Dulac, it's from The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam, Heav'n But the Vision of Fulfill'd Desire…" You look back down to the picture.

"It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is." She is looking at you, she is staring, seemingly trying to see through or into you; you are not sure which. Rather than think about what you are about to do, you stand and go to Santana. You take her in your arms and kiss her softly. Unlike with your previous kiss, you do not let go when you are done. You breathe her in, a mix of spices and perfume. She is the one who initiates the next kiss. You let yourself enjoy it. Just like you enjoy the next one and the one after that.

You guide her slowly towards the sofa where you keep on kissing. You kiss harder and harder, longer as well. You cannot get enough of each others. She is tugging at the hem of your t-shirt and you slowly and carefully undo the buttons of her blouse. You have just undone the last one when she pulls on your t-shirt, taking it off you. She also shrugs her own blouse before bringing her hands down to the buttons of your shorts. She starts unbuttoning it, making quick work of it. You let her take them off you and pull her own skirt down but then you reach for her, slowly, bringing your hand to her breast. You feel her arching into your touch, aching for more. You do not relent though and you keep your movement slow and steady. Santana finally seems to understand your intend and lets go; trusting you to bring her where she wants to be. Kissing her, you take off her bra. You let her kiss you as she does the same.

She is kissing her way down to your pelvis when she takes off your knickers and this time, you are the one arching into her mouth. Her hands on your hips hold you steady while she tastes you.

You pull her up to your face and kiss her, hard. While your hands roam her body, touching the swell of her breasts, the softness of her arms, her toned stomach. Before long you can feel her asking for more. You give into the whimpers and pleas that come out of her and touch her where she wants. She is all warmth and softness, tight and inviting. Her moans are taunting you, daring you. When she comes, her whole body, which was pushing onto your hand, relaxes and she falls on you, head on your chest.

She kisses you again. Only this time, there is no sense of urgency in the way her mouth moves, she is content with simply giving you small kisses everywhere she can reach. You wrap the two of you in a blanket and let your hands fall on her hips.

You've put your underwear and t-shirt back on when you feel her move besides you. She is still wrapped in the blanket and you can see the smile on her lips.

"She kind of looks like you." You point to the illustration you had been staring at earlier. Santana does not reply, she simply sits before kissing you softly on the temple.

"Thank you."

* * *

Thank you to all those who've read and reviewed my story so far, please know that I appreciate it.


	11. Chapter 10

Working on Sundays screws my schedule up, sorry. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

The Sicilian Mafia is infamous for its aggressive assaults on Italian law enforcement officials. In Sicily the term "Excellent Cadaver" is used to distinguish the assassination of prominent government officials from the common criminals and ordinary citizens killed by the Mafia. High-ranking victims include police commissioners, mayors, judges, police colonels and generals, and Parliament members.

* * *

After kissing you, Santana laid back down on the couch like the lady in the picture. You remained seated, occasionally looking at her peacefully sleeping while thumbing through the illustration book. You are not all that sleepy so you would like to explore Santana's universe but you are still tangled with her and she looks too cute to disturb. So for now, you simply look from afar at the pictures hung on the wall and things that are lying around.

You have stared at every illustration in Santana's Dulac book twice and she still has not stirred so you grab the other book on the coffee table. That one is also full of pictures but they are not the dreamy illustrations you where looking at before; they are grimy old photos of dead bodies and crime scenes; mass graves and drive-by shootings. You cannot read the captions, as they are not in English. Sometimes you recognise a word, the name of a casino, that of a street corner in New York, you have also heard of Lucky Luciano whose name comes up again and again. You are staring at a photo trying to figure out why that particular car wreck was so important to the book's authors and to Santana: she has marked the page; when she finally wakes. You let go of the book as she rubs her hands on her eyes, trying to wake fully.

"Good morning." You kiss her.

"Mmm."

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee maybe?" You can still count the amount of times you have met Santana on your hands but each time she had at least one cup of coffee.

"Please." She nods furiously. "What time is it?" She is looking around the couch.

"About nine am." She grabs her knickers.

"How long have you been awake?" You move towards the kitchen.

"A couple of hours." You are now staring at her coffee machine, trying to figure out how it works. You can hear Santana moving behind you. When she comes into the kitchen, she has put on a t-shirt. It's too big for her and you find yourself wondering whose it might have been. You do not say anything though and simply wrap your hands around her waist as she bumps you away from the coffee machine with her hip. Once she has put coffee and water in the machine she starts it up and turns into your arms.

"Would you like something Britt?" She asks with a kiss.

"A kiss."

"I meant food Britt." She is laughing at you but she kisses you anyway so you don't really mind. Plus she looks really beautiful when she smiles.

"Beautiful…" She tenses slightly in your arms. You did not really mean to say that out loud but it happened. You kiss her. She relaxes again.

"How about I take you out for pancakes." Another kiss. "I have nothing here that's remotely edible…" You nod and kiss her again. The coffee behind you is finally done. Reluctantly, Santana turns back towards it. "Let me drink this and then we'll get to a dinner."

"You might want to put clothes on as well…" You are staring at her legs: the shirt might be too big for her but it still does a good job showing off her legs. She looks down too.

"I might." She says chuckling.

Eating pancakes with Santana is making it into your top ten of favourite things to do: she looks prettier than usual in the soft morning light coming from the window on your right and you have prevented her from finishing her food by making her laugh every couple of minutes. Until your phone rings. The bad ringtone: the there is urgent work to be done kind of ringtone.

"Pierce."

Santana stops eating, you can see she is trying to pretend like she is not attentively listening to the conversation, but you know better. You give her an apologetic smile.

"No Sergeant."

"Certainly. I'll be right there." You hang up the phone and lift up your eyes to look into Santana's. "I'm sorry, I have to go. The Sergeant's called everyone into work today." Santana puts the fork she has forgotten to use during your phone call down.

"Did something happen?" You nod. You cannot really say much more, you know she is going to hear about it on the news, but you are not sure how much informations Sergeant Sylvester is going to give the media so you do not want to risk anything.

"That's OK, I understand. Be safe." She stands and you follow suit. You leave enough to cover your bill and tip and direct Santana outside.

"I'll call you later." You are not sure what to do now, so you simply give her a quick kiss. You have to run anyway.

You make your way to the crime scene Sylvester ordered you to in record time. You have even managed to get your hair into a ponytail somewhere between 120th and 123rd. Now you are standing about a block away from the Iannelli crime scene with before your eyes a gruesome murder. In front of a bodega, two men and an elderly woman are lying dead on the dirty street, their blood mixing with the juice from the fruit stand they were standing in front off.

"The cashier is in the hospital, bullet in the arm." Fabray is briefing you and the other uniforms who have been called up here. "We think that guy was the target. Ignacio Torres, big time shot caller of the 134th Street gang. That guy was quite certainly with him. The old lady was simply picking herself a melon to eat for tonight according to witness"

"Shit." You are not the one to say it, but you share the feeling. With her thread bare shoes and cellulose dress, she reminds you of the elderly in your village, she even has the same basket weave bag in which to put her groceries. She should not have to suffer the indignity of bleeding out on a grimy street corner.

"That's why we need you to patrol the area, check for any suspect activities. We're worried about retaliations."

"Detective Fabray, do you think it might have anything to do with what didn't happen at the funeral?"

"It's unfortunately a possibility we have to consider."

Canvassing a three-block radius is not how you envisioned your day off going, especially since you went to bed in the arms of a beautiful woman and invited her to breakfast. But unfortunately, murderers are not known to be accommodating of anyone's love life. So you are stuck going in circles in your assigned area. Asking questions to people who do not want to answer them. They know the dangers of the neighbourhood and even those who wish to help you do not want to risk being seen as snitches by the eyes the gangs seem to have everywhere around.

You make the most of a sucky situation and at least enjoy your lunch-burrito when by one you start to believe the people in charge have either forgotten your very existence or what they assigned you to do: you have not had contact with anyone since you were dispatched to this area of Spanish Harlem. You think about texting Santana but you need to time to research the appropriate time frame in which to contact a girl you had sex with. Instead, you call detective Fabray asking for further instructions. When you are asked to come back to the precinct, you practically jump of joy.

The backroom of the precinct where you hung pictures of Puckerman all those weeks ago is now covered in photos: three crime scenes and five victims are enough it seems to wallpaper a decently sized room. Everywhere you look blood and dirt are on display.

The only areas without any pictures are the white boards you have been using to write down your progress and leads. There are three of them with information on all the victims. You have had time since the first murder to memorise both Puckerman's and Ianelli's boards. Now you move on to the new one. Torres it appears was a relatively well know gang member. After a rather lengthy stay in prison for assault, he had received a promotion among the 134th street gang from muscle to handler. What he might have been doing all the way down at a bodega on 123rd, no one seems to know, the only thing we know for sure he was there with Manuel Ortega: 15, low level street thug and suspected by police services of acting as a look out for a drug dealer; a young man stopped too soon on the tracks of a promising career as a professional criminal.

"And her?" You point to the picture of the old lady. Unlike everyone else's it is still one that was taken at the crime scene.

"We don't know who she is. No one has identified her or claimed her." Detective Fabray looks about ready to pull her hair from its not quite up to regulations bun.

"But she's got to be someone's grand-mother…" Fabray simply lifts her shoulders, as if to say 'I know, but what can you do.'

"We have something!" Hudson and Schuester barge in, slamming the door on the wall and startling detective Fabray and you. They roll in a tv and start up a tape. You are looking at surveillance footage of the crime scene, you recognise the bodega even though its window and vegetable stands are still intact. After about ten seconds, the old lady walks into the frame, closely followed by the two other victims. She starts pouring over the melon case, picking one up smelling it and then putting it back. She goes though about three of them when suddenly the drive-by you knew was coming starts. The car is out of the frame but your victims have clearly seen it arrive: the two men move in front of the old lady but even well intentioned gang members cannot do much against an automatic rifle and in a hail of bullets all three of them fall to the ground. It did not take more than two minutes but the scene you are now watching feels like a century removed from the peaceful grocery store you opened the video with.

"So she was not collateral damage…"

"She was the intended target. The two guys were protecting her…"

* * *

Thank you for reading. Hopefully you're enjoying this story and are interested in what comes next...


	12. Chapter 11

I had a ridiculously early start today and writing this is a way to escape a reality in which I wake up at 4:30 am to walk twenty minutes in the snow, to take a crowded metro in order to be at work on time. So thank you for reading.

* * *

Santo Di Matteo took part in the killing of Antimafia judge Giovanni Falcone, he became the first of Falcone's assassins to become a government witness – a pentito. In retaliation the Mafia kidnapped his son, Giuseppe Di Matteo to force him to retract his testimony. He was held for 779 days before being strangled. His body was dissolved in acid and never found.

* * *

"We need to identify her!"

"Yeah but we got nothing. She was carrying her keys, $25.32 and that's all; no ID."

"I guess she didn't expect to need it…"

"Her prints aren't in the system either."

"Is it really that surprising? I mean how many Ma Bakers have you actually ever met?"

"Technically, Ma Baker was only the mother of criminals, it's never been established whether she was indeed involved in any kind of criminal activities; there are therefore no records of her ever being arrested, printed or photographed by any government agency. So if your victim is indeed not referenced in any databases, she might indeed be a real lif…"

"Miss Berry?!" While nothing of what people were saying really stuck to you, that got your attention as well as everyone else's in the room. Detective Fabray who had been the one to notice the journalist crossed her arms on her chest. "What are you doing here?" She sounds harsh, eyeing the civilian menacingly. The two men in the room also adopt her stance. Rachel Berry's eyes move onto each of you. You smile at her a little, hoping to ease her.

"I found this in Noah's locker." She hands you two envelopes, both very heavy and clearly packed with documents. "I thought you might need it."

"Do you know what's in there?" While Hudson and Schuester have relaxed their stands, Fabray has not.

"Yes, I opened them and read and looked through all the documents they contained."

"When did you find this?"

"Two days ago. When you released Noah's possessions." Miss Berry is sounding more and more confident as she speaks. "I would have brought it sooner but our scanner was broken and we couldn't get a decent copy before today."

"You realise Miss Berry that's obstruction of justice?"

"As I was saying, all of Noah's possessions have been released to his family. Not my fault you didn't find this. And I am not obstructing anything: I brought it forward as is my duty."

"Where did you find this?" You try and rack your brain, you were the one who searched Puckerman's work locker, you're pretty sure you did not miss that.

"At the gym of course. Noah was a huge fan of lifting weights and displaying his 'guns' for the ladies."

You breathe a silent sigh of relief. If anyone is to blame, it is at least not you. When Sergeant Sylvester goes on the warpath, it will not be your head in her sight.

"Well thank you Miss Berry for doing your duty." Schuester is dismissing her offhandedly. She lingers in the doorway for a little longer though, taking in everything that is on the walls. No one else but you seems to notice: the others are all staring at the envelopes you still have not put down so you cough lightly, getting Berry's attention. She looks at you like a deer caught in headlights and then makes her way out of the room.

Once the door closes on Miss Berry, Schuester practically rips the folders from your hands, spreading the documents they contain all over the table. Inside are more of the spread sheets you found; pictures of heavily tattooed, unfriendly looking men; and various other scenes, which you recognise as being having all been taken in Harlem thanks to your extensive patrolling these last few weeks.

"Ok, we know for sure now that she is someone important." Hudson is pointing to a photo of the dead old lady.

"We still need to identify her."

"If she's someone's mother…" You hesitate; you are not a detective and your idea might be stupid. "That someone might be in the system, we could do a fiscal match." You shrug. "It might take a while but we'd know for sure."

"A filial match…" Fabray is contemplating your suggestion. "It could work." She is now nodding to herself. "It might be what we need."

"What's that?" Hudson is now pointing to about ten pages stapled together and printed double sided and then covered in tight writings.

"It's Miss Lopez's thesis project." He eyes you warily so you point to the top left corner of the page. "It's written right there." You shuffle the documents again. One of the photos attracts your eyes. "And that's…"

"Can you explain that Miss?" Detective Schuester is pushing the photo you found. Santana barely looks at it, clearly uninterested by the conversation. She has brought her lawyer with her again."That's Puck and I, in high school. Matt's Halloween party, senior year."

"How can you be so specific?"

"Puck kept this photo because it's the last one of me kissing a guy. He found it hilarious."

"I'm not sure I understand Miss Lopez…"

She eyes her lawyer warily. The other woman simply shrugged. "Tina and I were caught making out at that same party. It kind of put a wrench into the whole kissing guys to pretend to be straight plan." She shrugs. "Puck was kind of cool about it though. Afterwards we were drinking and he said 'girls really are the best kissers aren't they'…" She pauses for a second, a small smile playing on her lips. "Anyways, I hope I wasn't called all the way up here to discuss my Sapphic ways…"

You look from Santana to Tina: they are clearly still close, sharing insider jokes and communicating practically without talking. You feel a small twinge of jealousy. Detective Schuester looks kind of embarrassed at Santana's choice of language. "We, well, Miss Berry found documents while emptying Mr Puckerman's gym locker; including this." He pushes her dissertation forward. She takes it and actually looks it over. She then hand it to her lawyer. "Did you give it to him?"

"Why would I do that?" She looks confused. "It could have jeopardised my thesis, I know it might not seem like it to you, but academia is a cut-throat world." You can see Hudson trying to stifle a laugh. "Anyone could use my research to write their own dissertation and then I'd be left with two years of useless research." She takes the paper again. "I wonder how he got his hands on it." Strangely, she sounds impressed by her friends thieving ways.

"Who had copies?"

"Professor Holiday, the head of department, the board and I had the original on a protected hard drive."

"So Puckerman…"

"Shouldn't have been able to get his hands on it." She points to the script in the margins. "Though all that's manuscript is not mine." She looks more closely. "It's not Puck's either, those are intelligent conclusions on a subject that was way beyond his grasp."

You all remain silent for a minute, thinking about the implications of all that Santana's told you, for you her old flame for the others hopefully something to do with the case. You really don't want Hudson and Schuester's brains going anywhere near your girlfriend. You clear your throat.

"We found more of the spread sheets with seemingly random numbers on them. How do you think we could find out what they represent?"

Santana pauses to think about your question. You are happy to see that even without a law degree, you can still impress her. "You could match them with police reports of shipments of drugs, weapons, people… Maybe something will pop up. Otherwise, see if you can't find similar codes, from one sheet to the next. Or a pattern between lines." She shrugs. "Or you could try and find the key."

"The key?"

"Yes, whoever wrote this, will have to show it to someone else at some point, the other person would need to be able to decode it. Also there's no way anyone would remember a code that elaborate on their own. Find the key, you'll get all your answers."

"Thank you." Santana gives detective Fabray a curt smile. She stands, the rest of you follow suit. While she and her lawyer make their way outside, you trail behind, hoping to talk to Santana quickly. They have almost reached the front door when you call after her. She turns back towards you, signalling for Tina to go ahead and keep walking. You are really glad about it.

"So you and her…" You have moved closer to her while directing her towards an isolated corner in the room. She smiles at you before nodding, quickly.

"Once upon a time."

"So now…"

"Britt, you're cute when you're jealous." She is now openly laughing at your discomfort. And you can feel yourself blushing more and more. She moves closer to you, bringing her lips to your right ear. "I like that you're cute." Before kissing you softly along the jaw. As she continues kissing you, she comes closer and closer to your mouth. You cannot help but smile.

"I'm cute?" She nods.

"And it's lucky too 'cause you kind of ruined my clay pot the other day." Your smile drops, you never meant to do that, it is true you had not eaten any of the food Santana had prepared but you had completely forgotten about that.

"Hey, it's Ok, I'm only joking." She is soft now, gently cupping your cheek before kissing you.

"Would you have dinner with me?" You kiss her. "You can come over to mine and ruin my pot. Though I probably can do that on my own." You can see her smiling, agreeing with you. "I'll see you then Santana…" You give her one last kiss before letting go and watching her make her way out of the station where her ex is waiting. At least, you look cute while doing so and she turns round and smiles at you one last time before walking along Tina.

The three detectives have moved from the interrogation room where you had the talk with Santana back to the room where you've set up all your evidence. Schuester and Hudson are studying the photographs while Fabray is reading Santana's thesis proposal.

"Miss Lopez was right, whoever wrote these." She points to the annotations. "Knew what he or she was talking about. Some of them have little to nothing to do with the research she's done. Which is impressive in it own rights." You nod and take another copy of the document and start reading it. It is a little bit out of your depth.

"Are we assuming the person who gutted a guy and shot four people is a jealous professor?" Hudson's sarcastic comment has Fabray looking up from her paper.

"No, we are not assuming anything Hudson, we're cops, we investigate every alley, no matter how improbable." She closes her eyes and taking a deep breath in. "Let's reconvene tomorrow." You are the first out of the door: you have a date to get ready for.

* * *

Thank you for reading.

* * *

I know for now I've left more questions unanswered than you might like, but messy as it may seem, I have the story planned so I really hope you enjoyed this.


	13. Chapter 12

Sorry for the delay in updates, I've been busy with work and not sleeping enough…

* * *

Los Zetas were formed in the late 1990s by 14 soldiers who deserted from army special forces to work as muscle for the Gulf Cartel. Their name comes from a military radio code.

* * *

"Did you really mean it? Did we really ruin your pot?" You are seating cross legged on your sofa, eating peperoni pizza and enjoying your evening with Santana when you remember what she told you at the precinct.

"Mmm. " She nods, having just taken a mouthful of food. "Mole is supposed to simmer for a while but that was a bit too much…" She takes a sip of water. "It was all burnt at the bottom."

You look down at your hands. "Sorry." You can hear shuffling and lift your eyes: Santana has moved from her spot at the other end of the admittedly not very big sofa to kneeling in front of you.

"I also meant it when I said I didn't mind much." She smiles softly. "Just don't expect me to cook for you again anytime soon." She puts her hands on your knees and leans slowly towards you.

"Did you also mean it when you called me cute." She smiles bigger so you close the space between the two of you, grab her face with both your hands and kiss her once, twice, thrice for good measure. You are about to let go when she leans in again. After one more soft kiss, she makes a move to go back to her spot on the sofa. You prevent her from doing so by grabbing her wrist. You tug on her arm until she is destabilised and practically falling into your arms.

"What are you doing Brittany?" She attempts to move but you put your arms around her and pull her towards your chest. She finally seems to relent and lets you do what you want. Once she is settled between your legs, you kiss her softly on the neck.

"I don't mind if you never cook for me ever again. We can order in forever, I like pizza, Chinese, Thai, sushi, Indian, kebabs, Greek…" You kiss her after each word and you can feel her melt into you as she laughs. "Can I ask though, what was it?"

"Mole." She hands you a slice of pizza. "It's a dish my abuela used to make. It's got chocolate in it and it's amazing. But it shouldn't stay an entire night on the stove." She sounds all shy as she describes her dish and you find it really cute so you kiss her on the cheek before wiping the grease from that spot. She snuggles into your embrace and you both keep eating your pizza, an eye on whatever is playing on the television, content with simply enjoying each other's company.

By the time youhave moved from the sofa to the bed, the sun has set and you have Santana writhing underneath you, begging and pleading with you until her body slackens and she lets out a throaty giggle.

"You're laughing." You give her a peck. "Is that good?"

"Yes Britt, it's good." She still sounds winded. You cannot help the pride that swells up in you. You move closer to her, holding her flush against you and you run your fingers up and down her arm, barely touching her.

"What made you decide to get a doctorate?" You find it so impressive staying at university for so long, school was never your thing so it holds a certain mystique for you. You can see her trying to focus, her eyes not staring at you.

"Are you really asking me this question now?!"

"Mmm." You hum into her ear.

"Believe it or not, I started Junior college intend on becoming a singer. I was majoring in music. That's how I met Berry." A small mirthless laugh escapes her and she pauses for a second, gathering her thoughts. "I took a class on South American History freshman year because I was missing a couple of credits. Sophomore year, I took two more classes that had nothing whatsoever to do with my major." She takes another break. "My dad took my brother and I across the border when we were kids and we never went back or talked about it. It was nice to learn about…" She closes her eyes. "Well, me." As she finishes her story, you can hear all she left unsaid floating in the room; you want to ask questions but you realise all she said were carefully chosen abstracts of her own personal story and no matter what you say, she will not say more tonight. You can see it in the set of her jaw and the way she is awkwardly crossed her arms. So instead of trying to assuage your curiosity, you simply hold her tight.

"It is nice to learn about… Well, you." She giggles at your words and turns in your arms and kisses you slowly, her hands roaming on your torso.

The alarm that wakes you up blaring at 11 to 7 isn't yours, you know for sure. Because yours happens to be birds chirping and this one is a long song about cinnamon and a rock, running to a bleeding boiling sea. You are not sure if it's the hour or the song but something is not making sense to you. Santana though seems to know what's what as she starts muttering from the third verse and wakes as the song plays. By minute four, she has her eyes open and by minute seven she has handed you your t-shirt and put hers on finally with the last notes, she opens your bedroom door and makes her way to the kitchen.

"Britt, will you want coffee?" She hollers from the kitchen area. Rather than answer, you follow her into the space that is left between the appliances and the counters.

"You're cute when you wake up." She does not say anything but you can see the shy smile on her lips and the blush on her cheeks. "What's that song you wake up to?"

"Sinnerman, by Nina Simone."

"Oh!"

"What?"

"The song makes a lot more sense now that I know she isn't crying after cinnamon…"

As she starts laughing at you, you find that you do not mind it too much, whether it's because of the cute wrinkle on her nose or the way she steadies herself on you, you do not have it in you to be upset by her laugh.

"I can see why it would be confusing." She grabs her coffee. "Come on, I've got to get ready. I have a class to teach." You pout. "I know, I know, it sucks, but if I want to finish my dissertation, I need professor Holiday to give me the book she's been holding hostage in exchange for this two hours lecture." She leads you back to your room and finishes getting ready.

"Your thesis advisor is holding a book hostage?" You ask as you put your trousers back on.

"Yes." Santana sounds incredibly put off as she says that.

"Why?"

"Because she wants me to give a lecture and I don't want to. So she is using a book I need to force me to give it. I don't do it, I don't get it." She now sounds incredibly close to snapping, frustrations mounting.

"Wow, the world of academics is hard-core, kidnapping, blackmail, theft." You hold up your fingers as you enumerate the offenses. As you do, you can see the corners of Santana's mouth lift up until she is openly laughing. You lead her towards the door and the two of you exit. You kiss her one last time after you've locked your door and walked her out of your building.

"I'm going to be busy at work today. I'll call you if I can otherwise tomorrow." She nods looking at you with a soft look in her eyes.

"Be careful." In the time you have spent together it is the closest she has ever come to acknowledging your job. You cannot help but smile one last time as you turn into opposite directions. You skip past a coffee shop, a church, and a halal butcher as you make your way up towards the metro station.

At work, you and the detectives are still holed up in the back room, trying to figure out a way to identify your victim.

"According to the medical examiner, she spent most of her life in South America, he said her fillings were typical of work done there." Schuester is reading from a file you have all seen and memorised.

"So we're now looking for a family of Latinos in Spanish Harlem…" Detective Fabray is extremely cutting when she turns to her technically commanding officer. "Well geez, that narrows it down." You snort at her remarks, you should not but you cannot help it.

"How about church?" Hudson who had been silent for a while says something in a quiet voice. "She is an old Hispanic lady right?" Schuester nods, encouraging. "She probably went to church sometimes, we should ask the local priests."

"You think they would tell us?"

"I don't know? Isn't it part of their big rules? Not lying?" Even Fabray has to admit for once Hudson's idea is not terrible. So you get sent to patrol all the catholic churches within a five-mile radius of the bodega.

By the time you reach the fifth church, you are about to give up and according to the list you pulled, you still have twelve to go. You take a deep breath before stepping in.

"Hello child, how can I help you?" The priest that advances towards you seems rather nice, smiling that indulgent smile priests seem to acquire the day they get their stiff collar and dress; but he is the third today to call you child so you are not feeling like being nice to a man who does not want to treat you like a grown up. You move towards him, he is standing before a table, rearranging pamphlets.

"Yes, do you…" You look down at the table. "What are you doing?"

"These are for memorial services we host. We prepare them in advance so people know when they are."

"I have her!" You walk in the back room, surprising all three detectives still assembled around the table. You pass the pamphlet you found in Church number nine. "The priest at number five was setting some of those up, they are for memorial services." You grab the paper back. "I figured, they can't bury her because they haven't claimed her, but maybe they'd want to like pray for her." You pull two more identical pamphlets out of your back pocket.

"Look at the photo, I think that's her." Fabray nods. She grabs the marker and starts writing the name on the board.

"Find all the relatives she has, we need to have a talk with them…" Hudson stands and moves towards the computer feeding the woman's last name to the DMV.

"I've got 218 Lopezes within a two mile radius of the church. And those are only the ones registered."

* * *

An eagle eyed reader remarked upon the dangers of being caught making out at the precinct, I'd agree but, I needed that scene there so please allow for some measure of creative license also, note that I mentioned they are in a dark corner... Brittany thought about it too ;)

* * *

I have had people mention they like all the mafia facts, I am glad. Also because someone asked, the background info I give on organised crime is all-true, so are the statistics and everything else I put as an intro to each chapter. An 'easy' introduction if you want to know more is the 2008 film Gomorrah. No glossing over gory details, no romanticising murder. Or you could read the book it's based on by Roberto Saviano (who has been since the publication in hiding from mafia retaliation) or Alexander Stille's Excellent Cadavers (which is on Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian mafia and not the Camorra the Neapolitan one in Gomorrah).

Personally, I prefer Gomorrah, but Excellent Cadavers is also very good. If you don't want to read though the film is absolutely amazing as well so don't feel bad if you simply watch it.

* * *

As always thank you for reading.


	14. Chapter 13

I am sorry for the delay, I worked through Christmas and New Year and I just had no energy or will to live left at the end the day. Please accept my sincerest apology and understand that I never meant for it to take so long.

* * *

The three Italian mafias were founded by Spanish knights, Osso, Mastrosso and Carcagnosso who fled their country after avenging one of their sisters. Hiding in the caves of Favignana they dreamed up and refined the rules of the Honoured Society.

* * *

"So she isn't in the system?" Detective Fabray shows Hudson the dead woman's picture. He shakes his head negatively.

"Narrow it down to only the Lopezes with criminal records." Hudson starts typing again.

"There are still too many to be just one family."

"Ok, those with ties to the 134th Street Gang, her body guards were members and chances are whoever is protecting her was too."

"I still have twelve Lopezes…"

"We have another one who isn't going to show in this search…" Hudson and Fabray turn to you, surprised by your intervention but waiting for you to continue. "Miss Lopez, she said she grew up in East Harlem but she no longer lives there."

"Can we find proof she was part of the victim's family? Other than the fact that they share a very common last name? If we come to her with just that information, she can refuse to answer our questions. We have nothing linking her to this crime other than the fact that she consulted for us on the Puckerman case; which we still can't prove is linked to organise crime." She pauses. "Let's check the health clinics and doctors' offices around the parish to see if Mrs Lopez wasn't a patient, maybe then we can find a next of kin." You stand. "Pierce, start organising a detail to be present at the memorial service tomorrow. Let's get to work people, Sylvester is getting impatient."

The threat of a Sylvester blow out is enough to get everyone moving a bit faster. Hudson turns back to his computer searches and you start filling the paperwork required when requesting additional units for any operation. Pages upon pages of forms to complete writing in the minute details and reasons of how and why the NYPD plans to gate crash an eighty years old woman's memorial service. "Paperwork is the reason I became a cop" – said no one ever…

You have reached about two thirds of the fifth and second to last piece of paper when Schuester bursts through the door.

"The canvas of local clinics panned out." He pulls his notepad out of his inner coat pocket. "The old lady had arthritis. She was getting treated at a clinic about a bloc from the bodega. Her address is listed as that of Alfonso Lopez."

Hudson starts typing furiously again. "I have an Alfonso Lopez, lives in the neighbourhood, works at Adreotti's the butcher which is opposite the bodega where Ianelli was murdered. Not much else on him." He scrolls down a bit. "He arrived in the country in the late 1990s; became a citizen a couple years later…"

"What about his family?"

"I have no wife listed, but I do have two children. Roberto and… Santana."

"Bring her in."

When Santana shows up a few hours later she looks around the precinct, obviously confused. She notices you and offers you a small, barely noticeable smile. You do not acknowledge her in anyway and even from a distance, you can see her brows furrow. You can feel her stare at you, gaze hardening until her attention is caught by detective Fabray motioning for her to go into one of the interrogation rooms. You follow them and close the door behind them before letting yourself into the observation room.

The two women on the other side of the glass are staring each other down, arms crossed on their chests, daring the other to blink or react. While Santana is the first one to twitch, detective Fabray is the one who breaks the silence. She slides one of the pictures you took from the memorial service brochure.

"Miss Lopez, do you know this woman?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering…"

"Is this an interrogation?"

"No Miss Lopez, we are simply trying to clear up a few details." Santana nods even though she does not look convinced.

"I'll want my lawyer with me anyway if that's all right with you…"

Detective Fabray smiles her predatory smile at Santana, she is like a sniffer dog tracking a dead body, she has found the sent now it is only a matter of following it. She sits back in her chair, inviting Santana to make the call to her lawyer. Once she is done, Santana also leans back in her chair, taking a nail file out of her purse, slowly and carefully cleaning her nails, inspecting each of them for a minute before moving on to the next. She has reached number eight when her lawyer, Miss Cohen-Chang shows up. As Fabray greets Miss Cohen-Chang and begins the interview again, Santana is still focussed on her finger, the cuticle on her right index seemingly troublesome.

"So Miss Lopez, do you know this woman?" Rather than start the interview with a silent confrontation again, Fabray jumps straight in again pushing forward the picture of the dead lady. Santana still doesn't lift her eyes from her left hand.

"Her name is Alma Lopez. She is my client's paternal grand-mother." Tina is the one who casts a disinterested look onto the photo before answering. "What is this about?"

Fabray points her finger at the photo. "Her, it's about her."

Santana and her lawyer look at each other, confused. Santana shrugs, going back to her left annular. "What do you want with her?" Tina asks. "She's a fantastic cook but a mean old bitch." She turns to Santana. Raising her hands defensively. "No offense." Santana simply shrugs once more before looking up to detective Fabray. "What she said. What do you want with my abuela?"

"To find her killer?!"

That stops Santana's filing for the first time. She slowly lifts her eyes up. Tina is also staring at detective Fabray.

"Are you saying she's dead?"

"Do you have any idea who killed her?"

"I haven't seen my grand-mother in almost ten years. I'm the last person you should ask any of this to." You can see Fabray's interest is peeked at the first part of Satana's statement. She does not mention it though and opens the folder before her, pulling out one of autopsy photos. Santana drops her nail file on the table and looks intently at the picture. The whole room is silent, everyone is observing her, gauging her reactions. She brings on of her hands over the pictures, hovers for a couple of seconds, runs her finger lightly along the lines of her grand-mother's face before grabbing one side and turning it over.

"You didn't know?" Fabray's voice is much softer, gentler. Santana does not seem to notice her change in demeanour, she shakes her head from side to side still staring at the blank side of the photo she is holding.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, but we need to ask you a few questions." You barely have time to wonder about your superior's choice of the plural before she is using her hand to motion for you to join them. You open the door softly and slowly, trying not to startle Santana who is completely unaware of her surroundings.

"Hello Santana, Miss Cohen-Chang."

"When did she…"

"Two days ago. It took us a while to find your family, no next of kin stepped forward." Santana nods at your explanation.

"How was she killed?"

Rather than answer, Fabray pulls out one of the less gruesome photos of the crime scenes and shows it to Santana. The bodies have been removed, but the blood in still there, as are the shell casings. Santana is staring at the photo, cataloguing every detail, taking in every inch of the 12" by 16" print. While she is taking in the image, the three of you are looking at her, trying to read her reactions. Finally, she puts down the photo before saying.

"It doesn't make sense." You look at detective Fabray, not sure how to answer.

"Miss Lopez, has anyone in your family ever been a member of a street gang? Taken part in any kind of illegal activities? Been a sworn member of an organised crime family?"

"No, you don't understand, this doesn't make sense!" Tina puts a hand on Santana shoulders, slowly coaxing her back into the seat from which she had just risen.

"Miss Lopez, I understand that this might be difficult for you…"

"No, you don't understand, this…" She waves her hand over the photo. "This doesn't make sense, none of this makes sense."

"Miss Lopez, answer the question, please." Fabray is firm but still kinder than she usually is with witness. Santana takes a deep breath, looks at her lawyer before answering.

"I wouldn't know, I've had only limited contact with my family in the past ten years." Fabray nods, seemingly accepting the answer. "There is still something off about this."

"Go on."

"That bodega she points to the destroyed window. It belongs to the Italians. They wouldn't kill Latinos on their territory. It's bad for business."

"Are you saying…"

* * *

Thank you for reading and as always, I hope you enjoyed. Sorry again for the delay.

* * *

Disclaimer, while I enjoy reading the works of mafia scholars, I'll readily admit to my lack of knowledge as far as the American judicial system is concerned. Please forgive any and all mistakes.


	15. Chapter 14

Osso dedicated himself to Saint George, crossed to Sicily and founded the branch of the honoured society that would become known as the mafia, Mastrosso chose the Madonna and sailed to Naples where he founded another branch: the camorra. Finally Carcagnosso became a devotee of the Archangel Michael and settled in Calabria where he founded the 'ndrangheta. – John Dickie.

* * *

"_Are you saying…"_

"Someone's trying to get rid of all of them. Either by getting them to kill each others or getting them all arrested by the police."

"Miss Lopez, while this is an interesting theory, it doesn't explain why your grand-mother was being escorted to the grocery store by two gang members."

As detective Fabray speaks, you see Santana once again retreat into a defensive position, turning to her lawyer for the answer.

"As my client stated, she has not had contact with her grand-mother in almost ten years, she is therefore not aware of the company Mrs Lopez kept before her death."

"Now Miss Lopez, do you really expect me to believe that your grand-mother decided on her own to hang out with convicted felons and drug dealers?"

A second passes when neither Santana nor her lawyer answer that last question. You wonder if they actually will. Then Tina simply looks at her client while Santana gives detective Fabray an exaggerated shrug.

"To be honest detective, I don't care what you believe."

"Miss Lopez, can you please answer for the tape?"

"Detective Fabray I don't know what you expect me to tell you. I already answered your question. Reformulating it won't get you a different answer. I don't know what you're trying to imply but I don't like it; nor do I have to take it. You asked me here to talk about my grand-mother. I told you what I know. I would like to go now."

She moves slightly in her chair, scraping the legs on the concrete floor. Fabray moves for the recording device on the table pressing the stop button.

"Miss Lopez, your grand-mother is dead. There has to be a reason why someone would purposefully mow down 85 year old woman and two known drug dealers in front of a grocery store with an M4 carbine."

"I told you, I don't know!" She is practically screaming. Tina puts a hand on her arm, trying to get her to calm down, but you can tell even as Santana settles back down that she is having problems returning to her previous cocky stance, her hands are gripping her seat and she is breathing hard.

"Santana please." Everyone turns to you. "The tape is off, you can say what you want." You press a button on the tape recorder and its light stops blinking.

She is still looking at you, pondering what you just said. None of you say anything as you watch her relax slightly: she lets go of her chair and puts her hands on the table; she is staring hard at them.

"It doesn't make any sense." She shakes her head. "First zio Peppino, now her; I don't understand."

"Miss Lopez, we're talking about hardened criminals here, they don't always make…"

"Yes they do." Santana interrupts detective Fabray who for once does not look insulted. Not that Santana would have noticed, she is still staring at her hands on the worn out table. "They have a single goal: make money, they don't really care how or who they hurt in the process…"

"You've said it yourself, they don't care who they hurt." You stop her, keeping your voice low and your tone soft.

"You don't understand." Santana finally lifts her eyes and looks straight into yours. "What's happening now..." She takes a breath; you see images of the bodega and the old man flashing in your mind. "It doesn't make sense, financially." You can see unshed tears shining in her eyes. Detective Fabray and Miss Cohen Chang can see them as well, they are both staring at her.

"It could be revenge for something." Detective Fabray is the first one to break the silence; she does it as nicely as she can. You cannot help but be surprised by her tone. Santana is also shocked, she moves her eyes away from you, and looks at detective Fabray like it is the first time they've met.

"It could, but there hasn't been anything major that would explain this." There is a pause as everyone ponders on Santana's observations. You can see detective Fabray is starting to agree with her.

"Nothing except…" You bring everyone out of their musings, they are now all looking at you. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, you are never good when you get put on the spot like that. "Nothing happened, except the Puckerman murder."

"Puckerman was a nobody." Santana shakes her head.

"But he was writing this article."

"He was pretending to be a journalist for an obscure online publication, _The Muckracker_ in no _Huffington Post_ and Puckerman failed English all through High School."

"Still, if he asked the wrong person the wrong question…"

"They would have threatened him before killing him. No need to resort to physical violence when the threat of it would be enough to stop someone like Puckerman."

"You sound fairly certain."

"The only one at that sorry excuse for a journal with enough cojones to continue anything despite threats is Rachel." She pauses a second. "Never tell her I said that." Another pause. "Israel would roll over at the first whiff of danger and Puckerman is all bark no bite. He wouldn't have it in him."

"You know them that well?"

"I've known Puckerman since first grade: he pulled my pigtails on the first day of school. I made him eat sand." She smiles at the memory. "Berry and I took a couple of classes together in college. Israel was always following her around like a puppy; only way more disgusting." She makes a face and Tina laughs loudly. You feel a pang of jealousy; you are about to ask about their relationship again when someone knocks on the door. It opens and in rolls Artie he has photos on his lap.

"Sorry for interrupting, I have the screen captures you wanted." He hands the photos to detective Fabray. "I found no match for any of them in the DMV, but the quality is terrible." She looks at them quickly, before setting them on the table and turning them towards Santana and Tina.

"Do you know either of these men?"

They both lean forward, taking a good look at the graining video surveillance captures before shaking their heads.

"I don't think I've ever seen them."

"Me neither."

"Well then, thank you for your time Miss Lopez."

The four of you make your way to the door. You open it and hold it for the others to walk through. Tina is already out when Santana turns around, blocking you and detective Fabray.

"How did you find out?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Her name? How did you find it, if I'm the one who identified her for you."

Detective Fabray looks at you so Santana does the same.

"I found a pamphlet for a memorial service. I recognised her photo."

She nods.

"Can I see it?" She holds out her hand and for the first time, you realise how small she is: her bravado is all gone and there is nothing left of the confident and confrontational woman you saw in the interrogation room. Detective Fabray hands her the pamphlet. Santana takes it slowly, gingerly opening it and reading through it a couple of times.

"Thank you."

She finally moves from her position in the doorway, letting you and detective Fabray out of the room. She hangs back slightly, slowly making her way down the corridor with her eyes on the paper in her hands.

"Are you OK?"

"What? Yeah. I just… I just had no idea. How long?"

"How long?"

"How long ago did she die?"

"A couple of days."

She does not say anything more, and moves past you and towards the door. You watch her go for a bit before you decide to follow her. You quicken you pace a little bit and manage to catch up to her just before she reaches the front door of the precinct. You open the door for her, and she quickly looks up to you. She smiles a little but it is a small and sad smile. You decide to follow her a little bit longer and the two of you start walking silently for a bit before you reach an alleyway. You duck in, tugging her along.

"Santana, how are you, really?"

She looks down to where you are holding her arm.

"I'm not sure." You pull her towards you slightly but she stands her ground, not bulging. "We hadn't talked in almost ten years but… I knew… I knew she was… She was there…"

She breaks down there and then, in this dingy alley while trying to keep you away. Once she starts crying, you pull her towards you again and this time she ends up in your arms, so you hold her, tight, for what seems like a really long time. The alleyway smells rancid so instead you put your nose in her hair and breathe her in. She smells sweet but you cannot quite pin point her scent. She calms down as the minutes pass and when she lifts her head up to look at you, you pull back slightly.

"Come on, let's get out of here, it stinks."

She laughs and it is the best sound you have heard in a while so you kiss her lightly on the cheek along the tear tracks drawn in her makeup.

"I must look terrible" She tries to clean herself up and puts her head down.

"You're the prettiest girl in the world."

She laughs again but this time all shy and bashful.

"Let's get you coffee pretty girl." You pull her out of the alley and towards the metro station. You hold her tight as you way for the train, neither of you saying anything until you reach the coffee shop you had your first date in. You pay for her coffee and your hot chocolate and as you slide in the booth with her she looks at you with a smile.

"Thanks Britt." You kiss her even though she tastes bitter and you do not like coffee. "You taste like hot chocolate." You find that you do not mind the taste of coffee too much as she kisses you again before resting her head on your shoulder.

* * *

I can't believe it's taken me more than a month to write this measly chapter, I apologise. Hopefully the next one won't take as long but I can't promise anything: we are going to be busy at work soon and I am working a lot of evening shifts.

* * *

As always, thank you for reading and feel free to point out any mistakes in my English.


	16. Chapter 15

Each Year, Pablo Escobar would write off 10% of his $20 Billions profit as lost: the money was kept in storage where it would simply go missing, get water damaged or be eaten by rats. He also spent over $2000 a months on elastic bands to hold his money in bunches.

* * *

You spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence, the two of you sipping on your respective hot drinks, enjoying each other's company. You like the weight of her head on your shoulder and the smell of her perfume mixing with the smell of your hot chocolate, it makes you warm and fuzzy on the inside. You remain seated like that until Santana drains the last of her coffee and slowly moves to set her empty mug on the table.

"I didn't expect it to hurt this much." She leans forward, hugging her knees close to her chest: "I hadn't seen her in almost ten years."

"It doesn't mean that you didn't love her." You say as you put your hand on her lower back.

"Yeah, I know, still, she has spent the last ten years refusing to even acknowledge my existence but I… I had always hoped that… That she would…" Her voice breaks.

"That she would change her mind?" You ask already knowing the answer. She nods. "It's okay you know." She lifts her head to look at you. "It's okay to feel sad. I mean, you can't stop yourself from loving someone. It doesn't work that way."

She drops her head down to stare at her feet again. She mulls on what you said for a bit before quietly saying: "It still sucks though."

You cannot say anything to comfort her so instead you lean a little bit so that you are able to gather her in your arms. At first you do not think she is going to let you but then she relents and lets you pull her into your body. You lean back into your seat, keeping Santana safely wrapped in your arms, trying to comfort her as you feel the tears starting to wet your shirt. You hold her, not saying anything until you feel her shift in your arms.

"Sorry about that." She wipes her tear stained cheeks before pulling out a small mirror and examining herself.

"It's okay, I understand, you have every right to be upset." As she is no longer in your arms, you put your hand on one of her forearms.

"It's not something I make a habit of…" She tries to shrug your hand off so you hold on just a little bit tighter.

"Santana, I promise you, it's fine." You let go of her arm and start gathering your stuff. She follows your lead. "Why don't we get you home." You reach towards her, grabbing her hand and tugging lightly, pulling her towards the door. Once the two of you are outside, you turn towards her. "Which way?"

She gives you a small smile and starts walking in what you assume is the right direction. Either that or you completely misjudged her and she is taking you into a dark alley to take one of your kidneys and sell it on the black market. After a couple of blocks walked silently, you start recognising your surroundings and feel safe in assuming you will get to keep your two kidneys at least for one more day. You are now close to her apartment building. You slow down a the door, wondering whether or not you should go up with her when she answer your silent question by not letting of your hand as she pushes in the code to open the door.

Without a word, you follow her as she picks up her mail and calls the lift. You are still silent going down the corridor to her apartment. It is only once she starts shedding her jacket that you clear your throat. She looks into your eyes and you can feel her begging you to stay so you unbutton your jacket and see from her smile that that was what she wanted you to do. She moves towards the kitchen as you go sit on her sofa. She returns with two glasses of water, setting one near you before sitting on the sofa.

Sipping on your water you let her pick a rerun of friends to watch on the television. You spend a couple of episodes laughing along the antics on the screen.

"Come on" You startle her as she was falling asleep. "Let's get you to bed sleepy head."

You help her along, as she gets ready, pulling pyjamas from one of her drawers…. Once you have done all you can you turn around and head for the door until a small voice stops you.

"Please stay."

You turn around slowly and look at her. She is sitting in the same position she was at the coffee shop.

"I just thought maybe… It's just that I don't really… Never mind, it's a terrible idea."

"Santana, it's fine, I'll stay." You cut in before she starts hyperventilating. "Just, do you mind if I borrow something to sleep in."

She shoots you a relieved smile before shaking her head.

"I'm going to change, I'll be right back."

By the time you come back to her room, Santana has killed the big hanging light and turned on two small ones on either side of the bed and she is sitting on the right side, slowly brushing her hair. You go to the other side, feeling Santana's eyes on you. You slip in under the covers and turn off the light on your side. She watches you for a coupe of seconds longer before putting her brush down and alsoturning off her light. You feel more that you see her get into bed and then the two of you lie in silence.

"Thank you."

Her voice in incredibly soft and quiet and even in the silent room you have to strain your ears to hear it. The silence falls again on the room for a beat and then you hear the sheets ruffling and you feel Santana's hand sliding into yours. You turn on your side and you can see she has done the same. Her eyes are closed and she looks peaceful. You fall asleep with her hand in yours.

You wake up feeling relaxed and to the smell of delicious food cooking. It is not anything you can easily identify but it smells heavenly and you can hear it sizzling.

"What's for breakfast?"

The sound of your voice startles Santana into dropping the spatula she was using.

"Fuck Britt, you scared me."

"Sorry. So what are you making?"

"Breakfast." She answers with a cheeky smile.

"I can see that silly." You step closer to her. "I was wondering what it was."

"Food." She is now laughing, the dimples breaking on her cheeks.

You put your hands on her hips and you can feel her lean into you. "You should be careful with the games you play…" You dig your hands into her sides and start tickling her. "They might come back and bite you." Santana is shrieking, and trying to remove your hands from her sides.

"Stop Britt!" She is getting breathless and you can't help but laugh at her desperate tone. "Eggs! Eggs!" You stop, surprised.

"Aren't you meant to say uncle?"

"No, I am making eggs…" She points to the pan.

"Oh." You take a better look at it. And indeed, there are eggs in the pan but also peppers of all colours and tomatoes. "It looks good."

"And it's ready. Go sit down."

You do as you are told and take seat as Santana turns off the burner and brings your food.

"Who knew you were so ticklish." She huffs in her food. "This is really really good though." She smiles at you. "I hope you stick around because I can't cook to save my life. I can't even work out the microwave, Lord Tubbington takes care of dinner…"

"Are you keeping me just so I can feed you?" You can hear the teasing in her voice.

"What else would I keep you around for? Your gorgeous smile?" She blushes "Your ass? Your eyes?" You are about to continue to see how much more you can make her blush when your phone rings. "I'm sorry, I have to…" You gesture to your phone and she nods. "Pierce." As the other person talks to you, Santana takes away your now empty plate and goes to the kitchen, giving you some privacy. "Yes Sergeant. I'll be there." You go back to Santana's bedroom to get your clothes

"You have to go." She comes into the room as you put your trousers on.

"Work." You nod.

"Me too. I have a class at 9." The two of you are making your way to her front door.

"Does anyone show up for it?"

"Not that many so I give out all the important info then. Come exam time, they'll understand the importance of showing up to every class…" She opens the door for you.

"You're evil."

"You like it." You kiss her.

"I like you." And with that, you leave Santana's apartment.

* * *

Someone asked what was their relationship status. To me, the American concept of dating someone i.e. going on dates is completely foreign so while it is true they didn't wait the usual third date, they are seeing each others, having sex and enjoying each others company. To me it makes sense I hope it does to you to.

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I feel like it's taking me longer and longer to put these chapters out. I'll blame the horrendous weather we have been having here. Also I made a tumblr: inutilisable . tumblr . com I thought it would be fun.

* * *

Not moving the story along at all here but I felt this chapter fitted very well at this point in the story I hope you agree with me.

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As always, thanks for reading and thank you for reviewing.


	17. Chapter 16

The Los Zetas cartel is based in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. The city just off the Texan city of Laredo is considered one of the most violent and dangerous in the world. The year 2012 saw an unprecedented number of murders and massacres take place in the city while the Los Zetas cartel was at war with the Sinaloa cartel.

* * *

"Okay, I'm here. Please tell me no one else is dead."

"No one else is dead." Detective Fabray is sitting in one of the chairs set up around what will probably be the Sergeant's pulpit. She looks pissed as hell. Maybe you were not the only one forced to leave a lovely lady (or man, you are still not sure what she prefers) home this morning.

"Then…"

"Why are we here?" You nod as she finishes for you. "Sylvester and Schuester shinned the assemble sign."

"Isn't Batman the one with the shiny signal?"

"Who fucking cares Hudson!" Now you do not agree with detective Fabray dismissal of pop culture, but Hudson's face is pretty funny so you do not comment on the controversy at hand. Plus Fabray looks like she is about to rip someone's head off; maybe you were wrong about her getting any… No way anyone would be this cranky after a good…

"All right you guys are a bunch of useless sissies!"

"Now Sue…"

"One month, five murders and you have nothing!"

"Come one Sue, you're not being fair…"

"A frisky kakapo and sloth could probably have done more than you and the boy wonder over there." That shuts Schuester up, and you would have laughed were it not for the fact that you are still waiting for your turn. "And you ladies, don't think that just because I don't hate you as much as Jack and his beanstalk I am not disappointed in your incredibly poor performance."

"Unfortunately, we are dealing with two communities with an internalised distaste of police and law enforcement." You agree with detective Fabray but telling Sergeant Sylvester that is incredibly brave. "The repercussions for anyone collaborating with us means we have so far been unable to get any witnesses to the crimes to come forward."

"Hang them by their feet and water board them, that's how we did it!" Sylvester's arms are flailing widely. "It works!"

"Be that as it may, no judge would admit any testimony obtained that way."

Trumped by Fabray's implacable logic, Sylvester storms out of the room.

"I want results and I want them now!"

"We need to find a link between all the victims."

"Alma Lopez is the anomaly: from what we can tell, she was just a regular old lady who went to church and had arthritis. We still don't know why she was a target."

"What about the rest of the Lopezes?"

"Well we did a background check on Santana before she consulted, couldn't find much. She doesn't have a license, no criminal record and her last mention was on rate my professor where she was described as 'hot as a jalapeno but mean as a pit-bull' by one otlectic13. She responded by saying 'I know who you are…' Also Trixie mentioned she 'likes to give all the test preps on early morning classes.' That's all we could find."

"The father?"

"Again, not that much to find. Arrived in the US in 1999 started working at Adreotti's almost immediately; it seems that he still works there. He became a citizen in 2003 along with his children."

"The brother is the interesting one. Unlike his sister, he barely graduated high school, had a terrible attendance record and numerous arrests as a minor. His record is now sealed though and he hasn't been arrested since his 17th birthday. When he was suspected of beating a guy in a bar. No charges were ever brought though. Since then nothing."

"Why is he interesting then?"

"Because he owns and operates a garage on 132nd which is suspected of dealing in stolen car parts. No proof has been found of any illegal activities since Roberto took over."

"So we have absolutely nothing."

"Except…" Fabray stares you down, daring you to finish your sentence. "I think he was at the funeral." You show them Roberto Lopez' photo. "I think he is the guy who arrived late with the other guys."

"Let's bring him in."

You are not sure what you were expecting a gang leader to look like; or what you had pictured Santana's brother to be but the guy who shows up two hours after detective Fabray summons him in a clean outfit but with tattered and dirty shoes was not it. Observing him, you can see the resemblance with Santana, in the jaw and the shape of the eye but Roberto Lopez is as tall and full of quiet confidence as his sister was small and cocky.

He sits down in the chair you point out to him and waits for you to start the interview.

"First of all my condolences, we have identified the victim of the recent drive by shooting as your grand-mother, Alma Lopez."

He gives the slightest of nods, acknowledging what you have just said.

"We have been wondering however why you did not declare her missing."

"My grand-mother was a stubborn, mean and spiteful old woman. She hadn't talked to me in about ten years." You nod, it is consistent with what you have been told.

"Why?"

"That is none of your business." His tone is polite but you can feel the determination underneath it.

"Does it have anything to do with your sister?"

For the first time his cool demeanour falters. He does not however answer. You decide to move on. Your investigation so far is not pointing to a family dispute gone too far.

"Mr Lopez, what does your grand-mother have to do with the 134th street gang?"

"I wouldn't know."

"What about Los Zetas?"

"Beats me." The way he is answering your questions without pause or thought is unnerving, you are meant to be the one leading the interview but apart from the brief moment when you mentioned Santana, he has not flinched.

"What about you?"

"Now officer, you can't expect me to implicate myself in a crime?!" He is almost joking.

You bow your head and smile slightly. He is right and way to well versed in police procedure and interrogation techniques to slip up.

"Mr Lopez, do you have any idea why anyone would do this to your grand-mother?"

"I genuinely don't know officer Pierce. It doesn't make any sense." He has gone serious for the first time since you began the interview. He is looking straight at you and you know he is not concealing anything from you.

"Your sister said the same thing."

"You talked with Santana?" His voice falters as he speaks. You nod. "Why?"

"Her name came up during the course of our investigation." He chuckles at your answer but let's it slide, not pursuing his questioning further.

"Well thank you for your time Mr Lopez and please be assured that we will do all in our power to find whoever did this."

"Thank you." He extends his hand towards you; you shake it before showing him out. "I will see you tomorrow."

"That is one cool cucumber."

"Definitely involved."

"Shouldn't we start to consider the theory advanced by both Lopez siblings?" Hudson and Schuester whose conversation you interrupted look at you like you have a giant pimple on your forehead: a mixture of disgust, pity and condescension.

"But he is involved!"

"In illegal activities sure, but his grand-mother's murder and what ever else is going on here, not so sure." Thank god for detective Fabray's intervention.

"He is fairly obviously just as stomped as we are." You move towards the board with all the pictures. "He tried to protect her." You point to the photos of Ignacio Torres and Manuel Ortega. "But I don't think he knew where the threat was coming from."

"What makes you say that?"

"Both he and Miss Lopez said the same thing about their grand-mother's murder: that it didn't make sense. It's an odd turn of phrase and if we assume that they both know the world of organised crime quite well, I think they really don't understand what's happening."

"Interesting theory Blondie." Unbeknownst to you, Sergeant Sylvester was listening in on your conversation. "Never thought I'd hear that many words coming out of your mouth though." You are frozen in place, unsure about whether she is insulting or praising you. "It almost made sense as well." Maybe both. "It's worth exploring. Talk to the girl Lopez again see if she can elaborate."

You nod excitingly, it's the first time you've been not only taken seriously but also that someone as recognised the fact that you had a good idea. Schuester and Hudson look at you dejectedly. Fabray almost looks impressed.

"Keep me in the loop." And with that, Sylvester leaves your group, off to terrorise another unsuspecting soul…

"Pierce, how do you want to proceed?" To have detective Fabray ask your opinion of anything is pretty surprising and it takes a while for it to register.

"Puckerman, he is the key."

"Why?" Only Hudson could make a one-word sentence sound so insulting and condescending.

"He was the first victim and the only one with no tangible link to organise crime." You can see him open his mouth again. "He was targeted for a reason."

From the corner of your eye, you can see Fabray is agreeing with you.

"Why don't you two gentlemen stick to our previous theory, Pierce and I will explore this new potential alley of investigation."

Rather than let him argue any more, Schuester pulls on Hudson's sleeve. Once they have gone, Fabray moves to the back of the room where you keep all the photos you were not able to put on the walls. She hands you one of the boxes from the Puckerman murder scene.

"I'm going to call Santana." You say to detective Fabray as you take out your phone.

"Hi Britt…"

"Hey, I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Never!" You laugh with her at that and Fabray looks up from the picture she was studying.

"I actually called because I need your help."

"If that's your way of saying you want to see me, it sucks." You chuckle.

"No." She stops laughing then. "I actually need your help with something." She sighs. "At the precinct."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." She hangs up before you can thank her or say good bye.

"She is coming."

* * *

As always, thank you for reading.

* * *

Because someone asked: the little headlines have nothing to do with the plot of the story itself but I like to think of them as a small insight into organised crime and its reach in the world.

* * *

I never know how to respond to reviews but I want to thank everyone who's ever written me one. They've all been read, reread and much appreciated. Thank you.


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